Second Best
by Daria6
Summary: After encountering a strange phenomenon, the crew must find their hidden abilities, and learn that they are more than their job titles. Chapter Nine revised, and Chapter Ten posted. FINISHED.
1. Chapter One

Summary: When Enterprise encounters a strange phenomenon, the crew learns there is more to a person then how well they do their job.  
  
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Paramount, not me. This is just for fun, not for profit.

* * *

The light, when it came, was blindingly intense. For an instant the world seemed to become translucent in an explosion of whiteness. The light invaded every corner of the ship, leaving nothing untouched by its brilliance. And then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

* * *

"What was that?" Commander Charles Tucker, currently the Acting Captain on Enterprise stood up from the command chair. He lifted one hand to rake through his hair, as he tried to figure out what had just happened. The bridge crew simply stared at him, equally startled by the light that had invaded the ship. They all looked as confused as he was, but everyone seemed calm.   
  
"Is everyone okay?" he asked, not knowing what else to say. There was no indication that anything unusual had happened at all, and if not for the slightly stunned expressions everyone wore, he wouldn't have known that anything had occurred at all.  
  
"There are no reports of any injuries or damage coming in, sir, but several departments have asked what the light was," Malcolm reported from tactical.  
  
Trip shook his head, and then turned to face the viewscreen. "What do the... the Actuarians are gone! Where did they go?"  
  
Again, the bridge crew had no answers for him. The ship they had been talking to was simply gone.  
  
Still shaking his head Trip returned to the command seat. "Maybe that light was an effect when they go into warp or something. I'd sure like to get a look at the engines that produce it. T'Pol and the captain are never gonna believe it. The sensors recorded it though, didn't they?"  
  
There was no reply from tactical.  
  
"Malcolm? The sensors record that light?"  
  
"Ummm... I'm checking, Commander," Malcolm sounded unusually tentative. Trip turned to look at him, concerned, but the armory officer looked fine. His head was bent over his console as he concentrated. Finally he looked up. "Yes, the sensors recorded it," he reported, but to Trip he sounded unsure.  
  
"Anything else you can tell me about that light?" Trip asked. The ship and crew seemed intact, but the light had been so overwhelming, so powerful, that he felt there must be something they were missing. And everyone was suddenly so quiet. He paced the bridge uneasily.  
  
"Not at the moment, Commander," Malcolm said, and this time the hesitancy was pronounced. "I'll need a little time to look at it."  
  
Trip continued his pacing, thinking hard. There was nothing else to be done. They could examine the readings, but there was no urgency. His curiosity piqued, Trip couldn't resist joining Malcolm at the tactical station to look at the readings.  
  
Malcolm had the readings displayed as he studied them. Over the armory officer's shoulder Trip could see the numbers.   
  
"That-- there-- that would seem to indicate..." Malcolm paused again. He blinked hard, and shook his head. "I can't determine a specific source. I can't even say for certain that it came from the Actuarian ship, although it did seem to come from the same coordinates, but... well, I just can't say for sure, Commander."  
  
"Maybe T'Pol will have seen something like this."  
  
"When are she and the captain due back?" Malcolm asked.  
  
"Later today. 'Bout three hours. Presuming they don't run into any problems in the negotiations." Trip grinned. "Why? You getting tired of the way I run the ship?"  
  
Malcolm gave him a half-smile. "Well, now that you mention it-- this might be an opportune time to install some security routines I've been working on... as a surprise for the captain."  
  
Trip snorted. "You mean sneak 'em in while he's away. Has he even seen them?"  
  
"He's seen some of them," Malcolm hedged.  
  
"Hell, Malcolm, I don't care. If you want to waste your time installing routines the captain is gonna make you take out again, have at it."  
  
Malcolm smiled. "Permission to leave the bridge, sir."

* * *

Archer stood, arms crossed, glaring at the alien. "Doctor, when do you think you'll be letting us out of here? Did you find something?" Archer glanced over at T'Pol who, with typical Vulcan calm, was standing patiently beside him.  
  
"I'm sorry, Captain. There seems to be a slight... difficulty... with my scans. I'm running them again."  
  
"What is the nature of the difficulty, Doctor?" T'Pol asked.  
  
"The readings seem rather confusing." Phlox brow wrinkled as he stared at the readings with intense concentration. "I am not seeing anything specifically wrong, but..."  
  
"Problem, Doctor?" Elizabeth Cutler walked over to the decon window. She had been inventorying supplies, and the amount of time the doctor was taking to release the captain and T'Pol from decon had caught her attention.  
  
"No-o-o. I don't think so," Phlox replied slowly. Cutler looked at the readings.   
  
"Everything seems fine to me, Doctor. No indication of any bacteria, fungi, spores, or toxics." She looked at him questioningly. "Am I missing something?"  
  
"I guess you're right." Not seeming happy about it, the doctor hit the door release, freeing the captain. Archer immediately walked out and studied the Denobulan.   
  
"Are you okay, Doctor?"  
  
"I'm not entirely sure, Captain. I seemed to draw a blank all of a sudden. I can't explain it. Perhaps I'll have Crewman Cutler run a few scans on me, just to be certain."  
  
"Be sure to let me know the results," Archer told him. "I'm going to my quarters for a little while, and then I'll be on the bridge." He exited, giving one last glance over his shoulder. T'Pol quietly followed.

* * *

"Captain!" Trip greeted Archer enthusiastically as he entered the bridge. "How did the negotiations go?"  
  
"Long." Archer rubbed his neck wearily. "Very long. But they agreed to allow us limited trade for some supplies. We can begin making contact with various suppliers in the morning. How did things go here?"  
  
Trip stood up so Archer could take the command chair, but the captain eschewed it, in favor of making a circuit around the bridge, checking monitors, greeting the crewmembers working the stations. Most of the alpha shift was off-duty, and more junior officers were filling the positions. They were oddly quiet, bent over their consoles with unusual focus. In fact, there was an air of tension that Archer couldn't quite explain. The only one on the bridge who seemed relaxed was Trip.  
  
"Well, we had a kinda odd thing happen, Captain."  
  
"Really?" Archer turned. Trip didn't seem overly concerned, so Archer remained unworried.  
  
"Yeh. We had visitors. This ship just happened to cross our path. They called themselves 'Actuarians'. Or something like that. They were just passing by on the trade route, so we just chatted a little. They were real pleasant. But then, when they left... Captain, their warp cores emitted this flash of light-- it was the most intense light I've ever seen."  
  
Archer felt a stirring in the back of his brain. "And?"  
  
"And nothing. That was it. That light didn't damage Enterprise, didn't hurt anyone, nothing. It was just really weird."  
  
"Did you have Malcolm analzye it?"  
  
"Well, he started, but I'm not sure he finished. He was having a little trouble figuring it out. Me too, for that matter. I'm sure he'll get to it when he's done--" Trip broke off his sentence as he realized what he was saying.   
  
"He's installing those new security routines, isn't he?" Archer asked wearily.  
  
Trip averted his eyes, not wanting to meet the captain's gaze. "Yup. I guess I said he could."  
  
Archer sighed. "Well, I didn't tell him he couldn't. I was going to look at them a little more closely-- I don't want Enterprise to become a battle ship." Suddenly Archer grinned. "I guess I knew, in the back of my mind, that they'd be installed by the time I got back. If I'd really not wanted him to, I'd have said something specific." Archer went to his chair and pulled up the console to allow him to view the routines. He frowned.  
  
"Trip, there's nothing here. Nothing new, at any rate."  
  
"Really? He should have had plenty of time to get it done. Maybe he changed his mind, decided to wait for you to get back."  
  
Archer looked skeptical at that possibility. "This is Malcolm we're talking about." He shook his head again. "But there's nothing here. Maybe I'll stop down by the armory."  
  
Trip looked at his captain, observing carefully. "You look tired, Captain. Why don't you grab a bite, and then try to catch a catnap. I'll see what Malcolm is up to."  
  
Archer considered disagreeing-- he had been away for three days, after all, and he really should catch up on what was going on with his ship-- but he was hungry, and tired. The negotiations had been tense, and he wanted nothing so much as to relax for a few moments with some good food.

* * *

The moment Archer entered the messhall he knew something was wrong. The place had less people in it then he'd expected, for one thing, and the few people that were there all looked unhappy. He could overhear grumbling complaints from the crewmen around him. Spotting Malcolm and Travis across the room, he ignored the murmured complaints and joined his armory officer and helmsman, a little surprised to find Malcolm here.  
  
Malcolm jumped to his feet as the captain approached, and Travis followed his lead, albeit more slowly.  
  
"Captain," Malcolm greeted him formally.  
  
"As you were gentlemen." Archer sat as they did. "What's going on in here? I've never seen this place so quiet."  
  
Malcolm gestured at his plate. "I think Chef is a little distracted today. This-- whatever it is-- isn't exactly edible. I thought I'd just made a bad selection at first, but there isn't anything more appealing available."  
  
Travis nodded to add emphasis to Malcolm's statement. "I didn't think Chef could mess up spaghetti, but the noodles are overdone, the meatballs are burned, and I've no idea what he put in the sauce."  
  
"The salad seems to be made up solely of lettuce leaves with a few croutons added to it," Malcolm added.  
  
Archer stared at them for a moment. He knew that on a long mission, a good cook was critical to crew morale. He had taken a long time interviewing cooks, so he knew, without a doubt, that Chef was a superlative cook. This meal was uncharacteristic.  
  
"Frankly, sir, I think I'd rather eat a ration pack. Perhaps for breakfast I'll do that," Malcolm said.  
  
"Oh, I'm sure he's just having an off day, Malcolm. Breakfast will be better."  
  
Malcolm and Travis gazed at him, their lack of faith in that statement evident. "I don't know, sir," Travis ventured. "Lunch was just as bad."  
  
Archer's brow furrowed. "Perhaps I should talk to him. See if something is on his mind." He rose, heading toward the kitchen, sparing an occasional glance at the unhappy crewmembers picking at their meals.  
  
"Chef?" he called, poking his head through the door. He had long ago learned not to barge into kitchens unless you were willing to risk a sudden encounter with something hot, or liquid, or both.  
  
"Here, sir." The hidden voice was despondent. Archer followed it to the back of the kitchen, and found Chef sitting on a crate of produce, staring at the bowl of soup he held in his hands.  
  
"Chef? What's wrong?"  
  
The crewman looked at him sadly. "I can't cook."  
  
"Don't be silly. You're one of the best cooks I've ever met."  
  
"You don't understand, sir. I can't cook. I mean, I really can't cook. I could yesterday. I could at breakfast. But since then I can't seem to remember what to do. Or how long to do it. I mean, I know that to cook spaghetti you put it in boiling water. But for how long? And how should it be when it comes out? I just don't know. I can't remember. But I know this is no good," he said, picking a piece of spaghetti out of a pot, and dropping it into the sink, studying it unhappily. "I can't cook!"  
  
Archer watched him, and then put a hand on his shoulder, trying to provide reassurance. "Is there something else bothering you, distracting you maybe? That could explain all this."  
  
"No, sir. Nothing at all. And certainly nothing since this morning. Besides, it's not like that. I don't feel distracted, or like I've made a mistake. It's... well, say I go to make soup. I know I know how to make soup. But when I start to do it, I have no idea how to go about it. I only have a vague recollection. So I try to remember, and do what I can remember, but it doesn't come out right!"  
  
A memory was stirring, but Archer couldn't quite place it. For a moment he tried to place it, and then put it aside. "Chef, I want you to take the rest of the day off. Tomorrow, too. I'll ask Hoshi to fill in for you. She should enjoy that. In the meantime, stop by and see Dr. Phlox."  
  
Chef nodded, still despondent. With one last pat on the distraught crewman's shoulder, Archer headed back to the bridge. He could stop by his quarters for a ration pack, he decided. He'd seen the spaghetti.

* * *

TBC 


	2. Chapter Two

A/N: Sorry for the delay in the posting of this section. I will try to post every four or five days. Thanks for the reviews! I appreciate them. I hope this next section is enjoyable reading :) (I apologize for it being so short, but I thought it would be better to post something now, rather then wait until I had time to write a long chapter.

* * *

Archer made a detour on the way back to the bridge to the armory. To his surprise, the room was empty.  
  
"Lieutenant Reed? Anyone?" he called, but there was only silence. Detecting the faint sound of weapons fire, he realized that someone, perhaps most of the armory crew, were on the adjoining firing range. Glancing up, he noted the red light over the door, indicating that live fire was taking place inside the range. He walked over to the entrance and range the bell, to notify whoever was inside that someone was in the armory. While he waited, he reflected on Chef's situation. Poor guy. He hoped Phlox could help the cook.  
  
The light above the firing range door turned green, indicating that it was safe to enter, and the door slid open. Malcolm stepped out, and stared blankly at the captain. He looked stunned.  
  
"Lieutenant?"  
  
"We can't shoot."  
  
"Pardon?" Archer wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.  
  
"We can't shoot. Not any of us. I just had the entire armory crew run a weapons qualification series, and none of us qualified with our weapons-- except Crewman Brer, and she's on temporary loan from Engineering."  
  
"None of you qualified?" Archer asked, now understanding Reed's shock.  
  
Reed shook his head. "Some people came close. I only missed by two points. But Captain, last week my crew had a ninety-four percent hit rate. Everyone qualified easily." Reed looked over his shoulder at his crew exiting the firing range; some were staring at their weapons as though their own firearms had betrayed them, while others simply appeared dazed.  
  
Archer took Reed by the elbow and pulled him aside. "Other than the firing, have you noticed anything else unusual going on?"  
  
Reed looked down at the floor, not wanting to meet the captain's eyes. "I had a bit of trouble installing the security routine upgrades. Couldn't seem to get them to function correctly. I couldn't adjust the firing trajectory protocols properly. I don't know why... it should have been a very simple process. I've done it a hundred times before." Reed threw up his hands in surrender. "I don't know what's going on, Captain!"  
  
Pieces were starting to come together in Archer's mind. "Malcolm, are you having problems doing anything else? Memory issues, remembering names, people, anything like that?"  
  
"No! Nothing but this--no, wait. I did have trouble interpreting some sensor readings earlier."  
  
"Are you absolutely certain that the firing range computer is working properly?" Archer suddenly suggested. "Maybe the problem isn't your crew, but the computer."  
  
Malcolm brightened at the possibility. "That could be, sir. Let me try someone else." Malcolm thought for a moment. "Hoshi normally practices down here. I could ask her to check it out."

* * *

"Ninety-three percent," Malcolm said glumly.  
  
"Don't sound so pleased for me, Lieutenant," Hoshi replied tartly.  
  
He looked up. "Sorry, Ensign. I'm pleased that you're so proficient. It might interest you to know that currently you can shoot more accurately than any of the armory crew."  
  
Hoshi felt badly for him. It had to be a blow to his ego that suddenly neither he, nor any of his crew, could seem to hit the broad side of a barn. "I'm sorry," she offered softly.  
  
"Not your fault," he replied crisply, suddenly standing straight. "But if we need any security I'm calling you. I don't suppose you know how to load torpedoes?"  
  
"No," she replied, unsure if he was joking.  
  
"Pity. Neither does any of my crew. At least, not with any efficiency. I was rather hoping that we might have someone capable of doing it." His words were crisp, taut, but Hoshi could see the lines of tension around his eyes and mouth.  
  
Archer had remained silent through this. "So we know the problem isn't the computer. For some reason, the armory crew doesn't seem able to fire today. Thank you, Hoshi. You can go back to your regular duties."  
  
Hoshi nodded. She glanced at Malcolm, who was standing still and silent, examining the phase pistol she had just returned to him. With a flash of insight, she realized that he wasn't sure what to do with it. She took it from him and checked to make sure the safety was engaged. "I'll put this away, Lieutenant."  
  
He nodded and gave her a small smile before turning his attention back to the captain.  
  
"Lieutenant, I want you and your entire crew to report to Dr. Phlox. We seem to have an epidemic on our hands."

* * *

"Ensign." T'Pol spoke quietly from her station. "Please check your heading."  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Mayweather replied. He glanced down and read the heading. T'Pol saw him tense, and then make an adjustment at the helm. T'Pol looked at her own console, and spoke again.  
  
"Check your attitude, Mr. Mayweather."  
  
Travis didn't respond this time. She saw him try again to straighten Enterprise's course, but her panel confirmed that Enterprise was still not on the desired heading. T'Pol wondered why Mayweather had taken the ship off of automatic pilot. She was going to ask him, but didn't need to. The conversation had drawn Trip's attention. He left the tactical station where he had been working, and came to Travis's side to study the helm controls.  
  
"You're over controlling, Ensign," he said quietly, not wanting to embarrass the young man. "Enter the course correction in small increments. Or just set the autopilot with the correct heading. Why'd ya take it off auto anyway?"  
  
Travis flushed. "I wanted to see if I could do it manually..." he looked up in consternation. He didn't need to add that he was having great trouble controlling the big ship.  
  
'Over controlling is a new pilot's mistake' Trip thought. 'Curious. He doesn't seem to lack the knowledge of how to fly the ship-- he just seems like he's new at it. Like he hasn't had any practice.' Trip made a note of this. He looked up and his eyes caught Hoshi's. She had been watching and listening to the conversation. So far, neither of them had discovered any changes in their abilities-- but Hoshi had not had anything new to try to translate, and Trip had not yet been down to engineering. He knew he would have to soon, but even thinking about it made him uncomfortable, afraid of what he might discover.

* * *

Hoshi entered her quarters and turned to engage the lock, a habit she had acquired years ago. She wasn't sure why she did it-- certainly she didn't fear someone barging in on her-- but somehow it made her tiny quarters feel more private, more secure, and right now she needed that comfort.  
  
She selected a padd from the top of her workstation, and took it to her bunk where she settled herself. She activated the padd, and pulled up a file written in Japanese. She sighed with relief. It made sense. Japanese was the first language, other than English, that she had learned. Actually, she had learned the two simultaneously. Her grandmother, who had lived with them from the time Hoshi was three, had only spoken Japanese. Hoshi had picked the language up easily, within a few weeks becoming fluent, and her career as a linguist had been launched.  
  
Feeling a bit of confidence, she opened another file, and then another file, and confirmed that she could still read and speak all the languages of Earth, although she had struggled with a few of the more esoteric ones that she had not had much practice in. She was about to put the padd away, when a thought occurred to her. She opened another file.  
  
Hoshi glanced at the file, and a chill ran through her. She stared at the padd for another long minute, before thumbing to another file, and then another. She put the padd on the bunk beside her and stared at the wall. After a short while she picked it up again, and once again began attempting to read it. With a great deal of effort, she began to read the Vulcan novel. She was able to make out words and phrases, but she was far from fluent. She realized she was shivering, and pulled the blanket on her bunk up around her shoulders, before opening the next file, this one in Klingon. She quickly realized her skill level was even lower in this language.  
  
Hoshi decided to change tactics. Rather than pull up another file in a language she could barely understand, she activated a file that was part training device, part game. She could set the program to generate a new language, based on the rules of known languages, or to create a language with it's own rules. She tentatively set it on the easiest level, and then waited while the program finished creating the new language. With no small amount of trepidation she began attempting to translate.  
  
It was hard. Although the program was set on a level that she normally used only for recreation, she struggled with it at first. Gradually she began to gain confidence as she saw the logic, began to detect the patterns and the rules. When she was finally able to decode the passage and saw the computer generate the congratulatory message that came with "winning" the game, she felt a surge of relief and exhilaration. She might no longer be able to speak the languages she had known only hours before, but at least she still had the skills to relearn them. Determined to begin relearning the lost languages, she set the program for the next level.

* * *

TBC 


	3. Chapter Three

A/N: Again, sorry for the delay in posting. RL has been a little too busy, and I've violated one of my rules about story posting-- never post a chapter until the next one is at least in rough draft. But hopefully at the end of the week things will ease up a little and I can get a lot of writing done.  
  
Thanks for the reviews! As to the question about whether or not Archer has lost any abilities... that would be telling too much :)

* * *

It was several hours before Hoshi, frustrated with her lack of progress, decided to take a break. She walked the corridors of the ship, wanting to stretch her muscles, but not having any desire to do anything particularly strenuous. As she walked she relaxed, until finally she felt ready to return to her quarters. As she passed the messhall, she had a sudden desire for a nice, relaxing cup of tea, and decided to stop.  
  
The messhall was darkened. Most of the crew had been eating ration packs for the last few days, not being strong enough to brave Chef's 'creations'. Hoshi hadn't intended to stay long, but as she turned to leave she glimpsed a figure standing in the far corner of the room. His back was to her as he watched the stars.  
  
"Lieutenant?" she called softly, unsure if she should bother him.  
  
He turned and gave her a small half-smile. "Ensign."  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"Just thinking." He noticed the tea in her hand, and gestured for her to sit at the table behind him. He picked up his own steaming mug and then sat beside her. "I was just looking at the stars and thinking."  
  
It was an uncharacteristic invitation to sit and talk, and Hoshi accepted it. "Can I ask what about?"  
  
He gave another half-smile. "The events of the day." He paused. "Hoshi, I can't shoot. How can I be an armory officer, if I can't shoot?"  
  
"I guess the same way I'm going to be a translator who can't speak a foreign language. I don't know."  
  
"You know, I keep reminding myself that everyone else is in the same boat-- but it doesn't help. I was wondering what I'd do, if this doesn't get any better. And I can't think of a single thing. I just feel so--" he broke off and looked away.  
  
"So what?" Hoshi prodded gently.  
  
"So empty," he admitted. "The thought of not being able to do my duties, of having to leave Starfleet, return to Earth--"  
  
"Whoa! Hold on a minute! Don't you think you're borrowing trouble? You're not going to be drummed out of Starfleet and sent back to Earth! At least, not without the rest of us. We're all in this together. We're going to figure this out. Phlox will come up with a cure."  
  
"Phlox is as handicapped as the rest of us. He can barely put on a bandage straight right now, let alone figure this mess out."  
  
"Have a little faith, Malcolm," Hoshi stood up with her tea. "I'm not giving up. I may not be able to translate Andorian right now, but I'm going back to working on it." She started to walk away, and then turned. "Are you staying here?"  
  
"What?" He sounded as his mind had been elsewhere. "Oh, no, I suppose not. I'll head back to the armory." He rose and joined her, managing a small smile. "Perhaps I'll be able to find something useful to do."

* * *

T'Pol sat quietly at her station, surreptitiously watching the rest of the bridge crew. She was taking the events with her accustomed equanimity, but most of the crew were not. Junior officers were currently manning the bridge. The captain had returned to the bridge, brusquely told her to call a meeting of the senior officers in one hour, and then he'd disappeared into his ready room.   
  
T'Pol glanced down at the screen in front of her. She had begun making notes of her observations, and now she reviewed them. She was looking for a pattern, anything that would give her a hint as to the cause of the crew's difficulties. She didn't have enough data to form a hypothesis, but she had created a program to look for common characteristics. She was certain that once sufficient data had been entered the riddle would be solved. Glancing at the ship's time clock in the corner of her monitor screen she transferred her file to a padd and rose from her seat. "Ensign Roberts, you have the bridge."

* * *

"Sir." Crewman Rostov stood at the door to Trip's office. The engineer looked up, feeling his stomach tighten with anticipation. He had known this moment was coming.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Sir, something is wrong with the warp engine."  
  
"Something like what. Can you be more specific?"  
  
Rostov flushed. "No, sir, I can't." He paused, searching for the right words. "It isn't running right. It won't hold a constant power level. It keeps fluctuating."  
  
Trip felt a wave of relief rush over him. He recognized the problem. "Sounds like the flow ratio is off. It just needs to be adjusted."  
  
"That's the problem, sir." Rostov's distress was evident. "We can't seem to get the mix right. Sir, do you know how to adjust it?"  
  
"Sure you just..." Trip trailed off as he tried to remember how to adjust the warp ration. Equations flooded his head, equations that he could solve with ease. But when he tried to think how to adjust the Enterprises mix, he came up blank. Stalling, he said, "Lets take a look at it."  
  
Together the two men headed to the warp engine. Staring at the massive machine heightened Trip's unease. He knew he was starting at a warp engine that he had worked on constantly for more than two years, yet it looked unfamiliar. Trying to hide his confusion, not wanting to further upset his staff, he began looking for anything that might be an intermix controller. When Rostov climbed the stairs that led up to a control panel, Trip followed. To his relief, the panel was clearly marked-- and as he saw the handle to the mix controller, he knew with certainty that it was the right control.  
  
Feeling a little better, he began pulling the handle down, to allow a little more warp plasma into the main reactor.   
  
"Whoa! Sir, there was a huge spike in the output! That's too much!" Rostov called.  
  
Immediately Trip pulled back, and the steady thrumming hum from the engine stuttered, and nearly died, before Trip adjusted the control again. It took him fifteen minutes before he was able to get the warp engine running at something resembling a proper mix, as he continued to over and then under feed the mammoth machine. He was reminded of Travis difficulties at the helm. The more he thought about it, the more he believed that the difficulties they were having were similar. It meant something. There was a pattern here, but it wasn't clear. Yet.

Trip sighed and again began trying to fine tune the plasma mix.

* * *

"I see what you're trying to do, but I'm not sure I can help you." Phlox returned T'Pol's padd to her.  
  
"Are you certain, Doctor? I know that you're having trouble with some areas, but have you attempted to conduct any research recently? Have you tried running any statistical analyses?"  
  
"No, I haven't attempted that, but I just assumed that--"  
  
"It is never wise to assume, Doctor. Perhaps you could try looking at the program, and seeing if it makes sense to you. It is a simple standard program used for investigating disease outbreaks. I would welcome any recommendations for fine tuning it."  
  
Phlox tentatively took the padd. He looked skeptical, but transferred the file into the sickbay computer. "I can't guarantee any results, but I'll do what I can."  
  
"It would be useful if you enter the data on your own experience into the database. I have interviewed fifteen percent of the crew thus far. I am concentrating on the senior officers, but I have also interviewed Chef, Crewman Cutler, Lieutenant Hess, Crewman Rostov, Crewman Seagle, and Ensign Ross. I think you may find the similarities quite interesting."  
  
"Well, it will be an interesting puzzle, if I can make heads or tails of it." The doctor sounded a little more cheerful.  
  
"I'll see you shortly at the Captain's meeting. After the meeting we can discuss your recommendations." T'Pol turned and left sickbay.  
  
"I just hope I have something of use," Phlox told her retreating back.

* * *

Archer watched as his officers assembled around the small briefing table. They were quiet, with none of the usual chatter that usually preceded staff meetings. Hoshi was concentrating on her padd, seemingly oblivious to the officers gathering around her. T'pol stood to Hoshi's right, watching the others gather. On Hoshi's left, Malcolm stood quietly, studying the readings on the briefing table, refusing to look at anyone. Trip stood on the opposite side of the table from the threesome, looking haggard. Next to Trip, Travis was also very quiet, but the pilot greeted each of them with his normal, bright smile. It was comforting to Archer to see at least one of his officers behaving somewhat normally.  
  
"Good morning," Archer began the meeting promptly. Trip, Reed, and Mayweather looked up at him. Hoshi continued her intense study of her padd until Reed gently elbowed her. Startled, she glanced up, and then blushed. She put the padd down.  
  
"Sorry, sir."  
  
"No problem, Hoshi. I assume it's something important?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Anything you can share?"  
  
"Not yet, sir," she told him.   
  
Archer simply nodded, not pressing her, and turned to other business. "What I would like to do is pool our information and see if we can start figuring this out. We also need to look at the duty roster, see who should be manning each station."  
  
"Captain, I think I may have detected--" T'pol never finished, as Enterprise abruptly rocked, the motion accompanied by a booming roar.  
  
"Captain!" Ensign Robert's voice on the intercom was frantic. "There's another ship! I don't know where it came from-- it fired-- it--"  
  
"Ensign! Calm yourself!" T'pol ordered. "Describe the ship."  
  
"Belay that," Archer countermanded the order. "I'm on my way." He looked back at his officers, all of whom looked stunned and not a little frightened. It was, Archer thought, absolutely the worst possible time to be involved in a skirmish. Enterprise walked again, and another painfully loud boom resonated throughout the ship. At the moment, Archer had no other options.   
  
"Battle stations." 


	4. Chapter 4

Authors Note and Apology: Okay, if there is anybody still reading this I must give my most wholehearted apology. It has been TWO YEARS since I updated this. It has bugged me immensely that I had an unfinished story here, since unfinished stories by other authors have always bothered me. So I have been humbled. I have had a nasty (and obviously long lasting) case of writer's block, exaggerated by real life getting in the way of attempting to write, and the cancellation of the show. I just lost the ability to write the characters. However, I have missed writing dreadfully, and have decided to simply bull my way through this. I always did have an idea of how the story was to go, and that hasn't changed, but I couldn't find the words to tell the story. I am afraid if I spend much time editing it, or getting it beta'ed it will NEVER get posted, so here it is in raw form. Later I may refine it and replace the chapter, but for now I felt it was more important to get it posted. There should be two or three more chapters. I WILL get them posted by the end of July (hopefully sooner), since I know how the story is to go. I just hope that the writer's block will lift enough that I can write it the way I want. Anyway, to anyone who reads this, THANK YOU for your patience and thank you for reading.

AN2: This is set prior to entering the expanse and all that followed.

Archer watched as his officers and crew scrambled to their positions. Although they moved quicky , he could sense their tension. 'Not good' he thought. Tentative officers were not effective, and even a second delay in carrying out any order could be catastrophic. He needed to come up with a plan, and he needed to do it quickly. At the conn, Travis gripped the edge of his console with knuckles that were gray with the tightness of his grip and he could hear Malcolm shifting restlessly behind him. Hoshi appeared surprisingly calm, and Archer could see that while her fingers were working the console a little more slowly than usual, she still appeared to be effective. At Hoshi's side, T'Pol was her usual inscrutable self. Trip had gone to engineering, but it didn't take much effort to imagine the tension that must be present there as well.

"All right," Archer spoke low, in what he hoped was a calm tone. "Travis, are they on an intercept course?"

"I… Yes, sir. I think so."

"Okay, then. Malcolm? What is their status? Weapons? Shields?" Archer turned to look at the tactical officer. Malcolm was frowning at his console, as though by intensity alone he could make it do as he wished. Archer hated to think how the rest of the crew was holding up if his senior staff was this rattled. Malcolm hesitated for several seconds.

"Sir, they don't appear to have any shields, and I can't detect any signs of weapons—but I CAN tell they're on an intercept course."

"Travis, go ahead and move us out of their path. Basic evasive maneuvers, lets just see how they respond."

"Yes, sir," Travis replied, but he sounded hesitant. Slowly the pilot guided the ship onto a new heading.

"Ensign, you haven't changed our course enough to avoid interception," Malcolm called from his station, and then glanced at Archer. "Sorry, sir, that wasn't my place."

"It's okay, Malcolm. Any more information on that ship?"

"No, sir…. It looks like their status is unchanged."

"Lieutenant, what scans have you run?" T'Pol had left her seat to join Malcolm at his station. "It doesn't look like you've done an infrared or magnetic scan."

Malcolm turned red. "I haven't. I was doing some of the others first…" he didn't finish, but bent intently over his panel. "The infrared is negative-"

"What is that pattern?" T'Pol interrupted him. "It looks like something is being masked by their engine. I believe that ship is carrying more individuals than would be indicated by the biosigns alone. It appears to be a fairly transparent attempt to conceal the number of people on board."

Malcolm looked at T'Pol with wide eyes, and his face turned bright red. "I… I apologize sir. I didn't see that! Sub-Commander, how did you see that?"

"There are areas of increased intensity underneath the lit areas, that are mostly masked by the head from the engines, but you can detect areas that are even more brightly lit. The congregation in the areas around the engine, where the infrared signal is strongest is suspicious."

Archer listened to the conversation without interrupting it, studying Malcolm. The tactical officer looked devastated. Although it had been a long time since he had spent much time studying scans—that was what the tactical officers were for, after all—Archer remembered from his basic tactical courses that the first step in reading a scan was to look for what showed clearly, and the second step was to look at any areas that lit up for anomalies. It required a systematic approach to reading the scan, an approach that was developed with time and experience. A friend who was a physician had once shown Archer an old-fashioned X-ray that showed Archer's broken collarbone. Archer had been stunned that the doctor had been able to pick up the tiny line that showed where the bone was fractured. He remembered shaking his head in amazement when his friend showed him the process he went through to make sure he didn't miss anything. "I still don't see how you do it," Archer had replied.

The physician had shrugged. "It's just a matter of being systematic about it, and having the experience to see what doesn't look normal. If I just looked at without going through the process, I'd miss too much."

Archer had just nodded. Now, though he recognized the similarity in the processes. Malcolm was looking at the scan for something wrong, and not using the systematic process he'd developed over the years so the subtle abnormalities were escaping him. As Archer stared at his tactical officer, a suspicion began to form. Unfortunately, he didn't know what to do about it, but he needed to do something, and quickly. He glanced at the helm where Travis was still grasping the console much too hard, having adjusted the ship's course. Knowing it was a risk, he gave an order.

"Malcolm, I want you to take the helm. I want a more distance between us and that ship, and take evasive action. Travis, I want you to take tactical for now. Finish the scans Malcolm had started.

The two officers stared at their captain, but they didn't question his order. In fact, Archer thought they both looked relieved, Travis more so. Malcolm looked embarrassed, and Archer knew he considered it being relieved from his post, but he didn't have time to explain right now. That could come later.

Malcolm had the ship moving on a new course within seconds. Travis had barely settled into his seat, when he called out, "Captain, that ship is carrying a lot of people—and they have weapons of some sort that I'm not familiar with, but they don't seem to be activated."

In the next instant Malcolm stated, "Sir, they're moving to intercept," but he was nearly drowned out by Hoshi's call.

"Sir, they're hailing us!"


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to those who reviewed, and to all those who are reading. I really appreciate it, and it helps to know people are reading. I'm going on holiday for the next week and a half, so the next section should be posted in about two weeks. I hope you enjoy.

Archer, who had been about to sit down, straightened. Turning to Travis, he ordered, "Ensign, shields up. Malcolm, evasive maneuvers. Keep us out of their firing range. Hoshi, what are they saying?" Belatedly he realized his linguist might not be able to translate. To his surprise her response was prompt.

"Give me a second, sir. I can't understand, but the universal translator should be able to give us an idea,"

"Sir," Travis spoke up. "I think that is the Actuarian ship that we encountered earlier, when you and Sub-Commander T'Pol were away."

From her seat Hoshi nodded agreement. "It is. The language is the same. That's why it's on file with the UT. Good thing…." Her voice fell off. "Why would they be back? To warn us of something?"

"Perhaps they'll tell us," Archer suggested. "Patch them through, Ensign."

Hoshi's response was slower than normal, but she complied.

"Enterprise, Earth vessel. Thisis the actuarian vessel 'Behemoth'. We have noted that you are trying to avoid us. We only wish to continue our previous conversation. Are you in difficulty?"Archer glanced around at his crew to see their responses. Since they had previously met the Actuarians, and he had not, he had to rely on their opinions as to whether this behavior was consistent with the prior meeting. But his crew was not giving him any hints.

"This is Captain Archer. We haven't met. I must say, if you just wanted to talk, why did you fire on us earlier?"

"Captain Archer? We did not realize that the Commander we spoke with earlier was not in command. Our apologies." There was a hesitation that lasted so long Archer had begun to think they'd lost their communication link. He'd turned to Hoshi to ask when the voice returned.

"Our apologies again, Captain. I was conferring with my tactical officer. He assures me we did not fire on you. Could there have been a misreading on your end?"

Malcolm, at the helm, had turned to face Archer. He was still keeping the ship in motion, preventing the other ship from drawing too close. At the question from the Actuarian he gave a shrug.

"I suppose that it is possible. I'll look into it on my end. Can I ask who I am having the pleasure of addressing?"

"I am Commodore Supreme Halik, of the Acturaian fleet."

"Commodore Supreme Halik, can I ask what you are doing in this area of space? What is your mission?"

"As we told your subordinate," there was the slightest hint of impatience, "we are doing research on stellar phenomenon."

"I see. Well, Commander Tucker is occupied at the moment. May I ask your crew complement?" Archer tried to gather information.

"Captain, as I'm sure is the case for you, we don't give out such information routinely-"

"Of course. I was only asking because you said you were interested in continuing the previous conversation. I was going to suggest that we continue in more comfortable surroundings, and was wondering if you and some of your crew might join us for a meal."

Archer watched Malcolm's back stiffen in silent protest at the casual invitation. He smiled to himself. Handicapped by the ailment that was afflicting the crew or not, Malcolm was still a tactical officer at heart. T'Pol was also studying him, and if her cool gaze didn't carry the same disagreement, there was a least a warning there. He turned to nod at her, acknowledging her silent input.

Again, there was a long pause from the other ship. "Captain, your offer is most kind… currently we have some pressing business to take care of, but we would like to visit very soon. How long do you plan to remain in the vicinity?"

"Unfortunately, we won't be remaining in the area" Archer told his counterpart. "However, if we meet again, the invitation is still open. How long do you plan to remain in the area?"

"As long as it takes, Captain," the answer was smooth. "And now, I really must go. But I wouldn't be surprised if we encountered each other again."

Archer knew he wasn't imagining that the tone had abruptly turned sinister.

Archer strode into sick bay. "Doctor?" he called.

"I'm here, Captain. How may I help you?" Phlox came out of the adjoining lab, rubbing his hands to dry them.

"I wanted to see if you've made any progress on whatever this thing is."

Phlox face lost its customary smile. "I think it would be best if Crewman Cutler joined us." He touched the intercom to his lab. "Elizabeth? Could you join the captain and I?"

"Sure." Seconds later Cutler appeared at the door adjoining the lab. "How can I help you, sir?"

Archer smiled at her. Unlike most of the rest of the crew, Cutler appeared confident. There was no hint of the malady affecting the rest of the crew.

"I was just wondering if you'd made any progress on figuring out what is going on, medically."

Cutler nodded. "I think we may have found something. I've had as many of the crew as I could arrange have scans of the brain. In every case I've found increased activity in the hippocampus, and generally increased neurological activity. But it's very non-specific. There doesn't seem to be any injury though." A thought struck her. "Captain, since you're here, would you mind undergoing a brain scan? It will only take about five minutes, and it would be very helpful. The more subjects, the more I can look for differences between them."

"Five minutes? I can spare that. Who else do you need? I'll try to get as many people down here as possible." Archer studied her a moment. "Cutler, you don't seem to be affected by this… event."

The volunteer medical assistant smiled at him. "I'm not so sure, Captain. Remember, my formal training is in xenobiology. I haven't had any need to test my abilities in those areas. I'm new to being a medical technician, so I guess it would be hard to tell if I'd lost any abilities— any deficiencies could be attributed to my being new at the job. It would be hard to say for sure if I'd actually lost anything."

Archer thought about that, and then turned to Phlox. "How about you, doctor? How are your skills?"

"It's the oddest thing, Captain." Phlox was animated in his reply. "I don't feel like I've lost any knowledge at all. If you ask me to explain the mechanism of action of a given drug, I'm sure I could tell you. But when it comes to DOING anything… suddenly, I'm all thumbs. I can look at any X-ray or scan, but if something is abnormal, I can tell you that it seems abnormal, but I can't tell you what it is."

"Experience." Archer said suddenly.

"Pardon?" Phlox had gone to watch Cutler set up for the captain's brain scan, but now he looked up.

"Does it seem to you like you've lost what you've learned from your experience, while your 'book knowledge' is intact?"

"Yes! That's exactly it!"

Cutler was nodding. "That is what everyone seems to be describing. There are a few variations, and some people seem to have lost a little knowledge, too, but mostly it's the things they've learned, and practiced, over time!" Cutler was animated. After a few moments though, her face fell. "Wait. That doesn't explain Chef not being able to cook."

"Maybe it does." Archer mused. "Chef, like many great cooks, never really uses book knowledge. He cooks based on his experience with all the variables—how spices taste, how they blend, what enhances what flavor wise. So much of what he does is based on his having learned on the job, that its not surprising, if our theory is correct, that he would have lost the most."

"Hmmm. That's an interesting theory, captain. I'd even add that the most hard hit areas are the skills learned through experience. Which would explain why I can recite the proper electrolyte levels in an Andorian, but I fumble through starting a simple IV. I know how to do it—but I've lost the years of practice."

"The question is, what do we do about it?" Archer asked. "We need our skills back now. We can't afford years to get back in practice."

Cutler and Phlox looked back at him without replying. There was really nothing they could say.

"We'll keep working on finding a cause, and more importantly a cure. In the meantime, Captain, perhaps you could do the scan now?"

Phlox went to his work station while Cutler settled the captain into the machine. When he was lying comfortably, she initiated the scan, and sat back to wait the five minutes needed. She was mentally making a list of things she needed to do when the intercom came to life.

"Medical emergency in the armory! Medical emergency in the armory! There's been an explosion!" The panicked voice on the other end belonged to a crewman whose name Cutler could not place. "We've got casualties. Please send help!"

Cutler hit the stop button on the scan, and ran to grab the emergency kit. She looked over at Phlox to see if he was following.

He looked as panicked as the unnamed voice from the armory.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Here is the next part, as promised. Thanks to everyone who is sticking with the story, and a special thanks to those who have reviewed. I hope you keep enjoying the story.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Under normal circumstances, Archer would not respond to a medical emergency. Lacking anything but the most rudimentary of medical training, he found his presence generally did nothing more than to add to the general chaos. In the few instances where he had responded he generally ended up doing 'traffic control' clearing bystanders out and giving the medical teams room to work. This time was different. For one thing, Phlox was not at his best, and Archer wanted to see if the physician was still able to perform his duties. Beyond that, he had a suspicion that the medical emergency was related to the current state of affairs, and he wanted to see just what had gone wrong. He had been concerned that his crew's decreased skills would cause an accident, and he had been mentally bracing himself for just such an event.

Entering the armory, Archer was surprised to find relative calm, not the panic that the intercom page had seemed to indicate. While the situation was clearly serious, things were remarkably under control. Archer's eyes were immediately drawn to the center of the room, where Lieutenant Reed lay, covered with an emergency blanket. He was very pale, but appeared conscious. Crewman Harris knelt by his side, with an open first-aid kit at arms reach. A few feet away, Ensign Morris, the second in command of the armory, stood with his right hand holding a first aid dressing against his upper left arm. The bandage was soaked with blood, but Morris appeared unaware that he was still bleeding. He was talking to Harris, who appeared uninjured but was very pale. Harris kept trying to explain something to Morris, but the ensign wasn't listening—his eyes were fixed firmly on Lieutenant Reed. The rest of the armory crew was standing back, observing the scene, their faces showing their shock. Cutler glanced around the room before moving swiftly to Reed. She began assessing him before Phlox had even made it to her side, hauling the big emergency kit he had lugged through the halls with him.

"Captain." Reed greeted him through gritted teeth before turning to watch Cutler as she examined him. Archer knelt on the floor.

"Malcolm, what happened?" Archer asked gently.

"It's my fault, Captain!" Harris blurted from his position on the floor. "I was trying to-"

"At ease, crewman," Malcolm spoke firmly, but then gasped as Cutler touched his bleeding side. He tried to continue, but was interrupted by Ensign Morris who moved to Archer's side.

"I'll take it from here, sir. Captain, if you'll step over here, I'll try to explain what happened. Harris, why don't you see if there is anything Ms. Cutler needs.

The distraught crewman nodded and headed over to where his injured comrade lay.

"Ensign, they don't need him getting in the way," Archer reprimanded quietly.

"He needs to do something, to help, sir. Cutler will find something harmless for him to do. Lieutenant Reed insisted that Crewman Harris be the one to give first aid."

Archer nodded, and mentally applauded Malcolm's action to help the uninjured, but obviously guilt-stricken crewman. "So, Ensign, what happened?"

Morris sighed. "To be honest, sir, I'm not entirely sure. We were preparing to do a series of drills. Lieutenant Reed's group was working with the torpedos—working on loading time, targeting, that sort of thing. The other half of the crew was on the range with me, taking target practice so we can get requalified with our individual weapons, when I heard a… bang…some sort of explosion, and then shouting. I came out here and found that one of the torpedo doors was open and Lieutenant Reed was on the ground. He was unconscious for about a minute, but then he came around. I had Harris page sickbay. As near as I can figure out, the torpedo load door flew open and hit the lieutenant in the side. Even without using live torpedos, a lot of pressure that builds up in the tubes for the mock launches." The ensign paused in his recitation as the doctor and Cutler, and Harris lifted Malcolm onto a stretcher, causing the lieutenant to groan and pale. Morris also paled, and then managed to finish his thought. "Sir, the impact must have been very strong…"

"What happened to your arm?"

"Oh, that." Morris looked down, surprised to find he was still holding a bandage to his arm. "When we heard the explosion, everyone jumped. Crewman Jones jumped, and his weapon wasn't on safe… fortunately it was on stun and only hit my arm." Morris managed a grim smile. "While I was trying to figure out what had happened, Jones stuck this thing on me." The ensign lifted the bandage and revealed a bloody burn. "I think it's stopped bleeding, though."

"Captain, we're taking Malcolm to sickbay now." The medical team had recruited stretcher bearers and were preparing to leave the armory. Cutler looked uncomfortable, "Sir, could you possibly accompany us? And Ensign Morris, don't think I don't see that bandage. You need to come down to sickbay, too."

"I'll be there shortly," Morris replied. Archer was tempted to order him to go immediately, but he knew that Morris needed to talk to his crew, reassure them and get them working on something to take their minds off the incident. So when Cutler started to protest, he intervened.

"Ensign Morris will be down within half an hour. Won't you, Ensign?" Morris nodded absently, already striding over to where the rest of the armory crew had assembled in the corner. Archer sighed. They needed to get to the bottom of this, and fast. Archer was sure these were not the random accidents that could occur on a starship at any time—starships were, after all, where dangerous activities took place. No, Archer knew with certainty that these were the result of the crew's current inability to perform their jobs satisfactorily, and he was going to have find a solution, and quickly.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

In sickbay, Cutler began a more thorough exam of the injured tactical officer. She gestured Archer over, and the captain again was struck by her confidence.

"Sir, I'm concerned." She looked down at Reed, who was now dozing thanks to the influence of strong pain medication. "The lieutenant needs surgery. He has broken ribs, but those will heal with time. But I think his spleen is ruptured, and he may have other internal injuries—I'm just not good enough at reading the scans to tell for sure…" Cutler glanced around until she located the doctor working frantically at his desk, and lowered her voice. "Sir …I'm not sure the doctor is up to it."

"What are our options?"

Cutler shook her head. "I'm not a doctor, sir! I'm an entomologist with field medical training… I think we can wait a little while, and see if his spleen stops bleeding… but from what I can tell on the scan, I think it's too seriously injured to expect that to happen." Cutler glanced at the readouts over the lieutenant's head. "His blood pressure is very low, and he has a low hematocrit…. Sir, he needs the surgery. I just don't know if the doctor can do it."

Archer scanned sickbay, seeking the doctor. Phlox was at his desk, frantically pushing buttons on his computer. To see the normally calm doctor so frazzled chilled Archer.

"I see what you mean," Archer replied.

"Sir, I've become a decent field medic, but no way am I competent to perform any surgery, let alone something as major as a spleen removal." For the first time Archer could see cracks in Cutler's confident façade. "But he has to have the surgery, or he'll bleed to death!" Her voice raised on the last and that got Phlox attention. He hurried over to join them.

"Yes, he definitely has to have surgery. I'll have to do it, and Cutler will have to read the procedure to me, as well as assist me. I have done this before… if we go slowly and carefully, I think I can do it captain, but there is risk—considerably greater risk than normally associated with this procedure, and removing a spleen is never a low risk procedure. But we have no other choice."

Archer was pleased to hear a tiny bit of confidence in the doctor's voice. Glancing at Reed again, Archer noted that the lieutenant had grown more pale. The doctor apparently noticed as well. "I don't think we can wait any longer. Captain, could you spare T'Pol? It would be good to have an extra pair of hands."

"I'll send her right--"

The intercom crackled with static and then came to life. "This is Rostov in engineering. Doctor, we've had an accident in the engine room."

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: I'm glad people seem to be enjoying the concept. Thanks for the reviews! My original estimation of the length of the story seems to be somewhat off. I'm not really sure how many more chapters. I'm estimating two or three, but I'm not entirely sure.

Warning: Somewhat graphic description of a medical procedure – I don't think it's too vivid really, but it might bother those who are bothered by such things.

Archer entered his quarters and looked longingly at the bed. It called to him, and for a moment he nearly gave into the temptation to lie down, but with a supreme effort of will he resisted. He had lost count of the hours since he had last slept. He knew if he succumbed to the desire to lie down 'just for a moment' he would fall asleep, and right now he couldn't take the time. Sighing, he went instead to his bathroom. He just had time for a quick shower before the meeting with his senior officers—at least those who were available.

It had been six hours since the frantic call from the armory, and in that time the situation had gone progressively downhill. The call from engineering, which had mercifully turned out to be nothing more than a superficial burn to Commander Tucker's hand, and some rather serious bruising to the posterior of the crewman he had shoved out of the way of an overheating console, had heralded a series of 'accidents' throughout the ship. With each new incident Archer could sense the crew's confidence deteriorating. Oddly, he had not yet detected any impediment in his own ability to run the ship, but he was wary, concerned that he might not notice it. He had pulled T'Pol aside and instructed her to inform him if she noticed anything. In her normal calm, impassive way she had assured him that she would do so.

There had been no report from sickbay on Malcolm's condition, and, knowing how busy Phlox, Cutler, and the crewmen who had been pulled from the science sections to help out were, Archer had not bothered them. The last image he had, of the critically ill armory officer being wheeled into the operating theatre while Cutler followed, clutching a padd full of medical references, was haunting. He knew they would update him as soon as they possibly could.

Glancing once more at the waiting bunk, Archer sighed and grabbing his towel and washcloth hurried into the shower.

Cutler peered down into the operating field, trying not to think about the fact that this was a friend's body they were cutting into. Although tentative, the doctor had made a clean incision just below the rib cage, and had easily located the heavily bleeding spleen. A fractured rib had obviously lacerated it, and the doctor had quickly decided it was too damaged to attempt to salvage it. Malcolm could live without a spleen. With Cutler reminding him of the procedure, the doctor had carefully, but unfortunately very slowly, began ligating the blood vessels that fed the injured organ. It seemed to take forever, and Cutler watched nervously as despite the artificial blood being pumped into his veins, Malcolm's blood pressure remained critically low.

"I've ligated the splenic artery," Phlox muttered. "I'm ready to remove the spleen… Wait!" there was a touch of panic in the doctor's voice, "Where is that bleeding coming from?"

Cutler glanced quickly at the anatomy schematic on the padd, and then back at the incision being held open with a variety of retractors. She shook her head. "It looks like you've got all the major vessels… wait, look, I think it's just a little…" she pointed at the small artery that was leaking blood."I think that's it. It's not major."

"I hope not," Phlox groused, as he used a cautery to stop the bleeding. Suctioning the area, he again looked for any signs of bleeding, and this time was satisfied there were none. With great care he lifted the spleen, now detached from all its connections out of Malcolm's body and into a small basin.

Cutler was forced to turn away. Although not normally squeamish, she was finding herself strangely bothered by this part of the operation. She looked down at her padd as a distraction. "Okay, now, we need to double check that the pancreas wasn't injured, too," she told the doctor.

"Right." The doctor examined the organ in question. "There is some minor bruising. We'll have to just watch and make sure there are no complications. You know, with the force of that blow, he's lucky his diaphragm wasn't ruptured."

"Well, I don't know if I'd call him particularly lucky today," Cutler commented. "But I see your point."

"I think I'm ready to close." The doctor grabbed the appropriate instruments to begin closing the various layers of tissue. "How are his vitals?"

"His blood pressure has come up a little, now that the bleeding is stopped," Cutler noted. "He's had a lot of blood substitute."

"Yes, well, we had little choice, hmmm? I should be done in a few moments here. Go ahead and start decreasing the anesthesia. Let's leave him on the ventilator for the time being until we see how he does. The surgery was much longer than it should have been…. I was very slow." Phlox sounded apologetic. "I'll get him started on the antibiotics to prevent infection… which ones are recommended?"

Cutler looked it up and told him as he finished closing. Together they got the armory officer tidied up and bandaged, and Phlox started the antibiotics running. They were both exhausted by the long procedure, the constant tension, and their fear for their friend's life. Worse, they knew he was far from being out of danger and the next several hours would be critical. Exhausted, the physician and his assistant worked to settle their patient into the ICU, knowing they still had a long list of patients with minor, and some not so minor, injuries waiting.

Only slightly refreshed by his shower, Archer strode through the halls toward the meeting with his senior officers and key personnel. Knowing that they, too, were sleep deprived, and had probably not made time for a meal in several hours, he had scheduled the briefing for the dining room. Although he knew they were waiting for him, he took time to stop and greet the crewmembers he encountered on the way, gauging their mood and morale. Although clearly not at their best, the Starfleet training was proving its worth. The crew was frightened and upset, but not, Archer thought with pride, demoralized.

As Archer entered the dining room, Tucker spotted him first. The engineer stood, calling the others attention to the captain.

"As you were," he instructed them, taking a seat. They followed suit. He studied them. They all met his gaze.

"First off, I just heard from Phlox. Malcolm is out of surgery. He's still recovering from the anesthesia. It was touch and go, but barring any further complications, Phlox thinks he'll recover just fine. Trip, what did your investigation into the accident find?"

Trip leaned forward, his bandaged right hand resting on the table while he gestured with his left. "Sir, after talking to Ensign Morris, I think I know what happened. To close the torpedo loading door, you push up a lever. To lock it closed however, you have to then rotate it half a turn to the right. It should lock in place—there's a loud click, and you should feel it lock in place. If you don't push it quite hard enough and hear it click, it's not locked. Apparently, it wasn't locked in place. The team leader, Crewman Butler is an experienced non-commissioned officer. How he didn't realize it wasn't locked…." Trip shook his head. Anyway, apparently Malcolm was standing nearby, and when the door flew open, it hit him."

Archer nodded his understanding. "I take it the other accidents—the one in engineering, the others, are of the same nature? They've all been small oversights that seem to be inexperience?"

T'Pol answered him. "Yes, Captain. In nearly every case that is what I have found. Not gross errors, but small oversights that one would not expect from experienced crewmembers."

"That's what I thought," Archer sat back in his chair and collected his thoughts. "Okay. Here's what we're going to do. We're going to do some old fashioned brainstorming. We're going to make a list of everything we know about this phenomenon, and find the common denominators. Maybe then we can come up with a way to counteract it." Archer hit his comm. Badge. "Archer to Phlox."

"Here, Captain." The doctor sounded harried.

"Doctor, I know you're very busy, but is there anyway you can join us in the dining room? I'd like you to bring any observations you might have about our current situation."

"Captain, we've managed to tend to the injured, and sickbay is nearly empty now, but Lieutenant Reed is showing signs of waking. I would really rather stay here."

"Understood. Is it possible for you to send Cutler up here? We can send her back down if you need her."

"I think I can spare her, Captain, as long as we don't have another flood of injuries."

"Great. Send her up, along with any notes you've made. And keep us informed about Lieutenant Reed's condition."

"Right away, Captain." The intercom clicked off. The assembled officers took advantage of the opportunity to eat while they waited for Cutler. She arrived in less than five minutes, slightly out of breath.

"Grab a ration and have a seat," Archer told her, noting how tired she looked. When she was settled, he began.

"Okay, let's get started. First, as near as anyone can remember, when did this start?"

The assembled officers were quiet for a moment, and then Trip spoke. "The first thing I remember noticing was Malcolm and I had some trouble reading some scans… that was right after we met the Actuarians."

Hoshi and Travis nodded agreement.

"And Phlox had trouble with reading the scans in sickbay when you and T'Pol were in decon, Captain, remember?"

Archer nodded. "That's right. So… we think this all started at about the same time as T'Pol and I got back to the ship?"

The assembled officers nodded.

"Okay. Let's use that as a starting point. Anything happen around that time? Besides our returning?"

"Well…" Trip mused. "There was that light."

Archer looked up sharply. "What light?"

"When the Actuarians left—the first time we encountered them—there was this real bright light. I've never seen anything like it. I thought it had to do with their propulsion system, because when it was over, they were gone. You know, Captain, that WAS when the problems started, because that's what Malcolm and I were trying to figure out when we first had problems reading the scans!"

"Well, I think we can safely assume the two are related. T'Pol?"

"Yes, Captain?" The Vulcan looked up from the padd on which she was taking notes.

"I'd like you to record everything we come up with. First thing—our problems started with the light and or the Actuarians visit. Next thing—what has been affected. Specifically."

"Well, I can't fly the ship," Travis contributed.

"That isn't really true, Ensign," T'Pol replied. "You are able to pilot the ship. Just not with your previous ability."

"That's true, Captain," Cutler added. "It's not like Travis can't fly the ship. I can't fly the ship. I have no idea how; I've never had any pilot training. So Travis hasn't entirely lost the ability."

Travis brightened at the realization. "That's right! It's just like I'm new at it. That's how it feels, too."

Hoshi chimed in. "It's the same for me. I can still figure out new languages. I'm just not very fluent. And I've noticed that it's only the more recent ones I've lost—like Klingon. I don't seem to have lost any fluency in Earth based languages, as near as I can tell. And I was just learning to use the universal translator, and I don't feel like I've lost ANY ability with that."

"Okay. So Travis and Hoshi—you don't seem to have lost your knowledge, just the skill you've gained with experience. Is that right?"

The two ensigns nodded. "And it seems the more recently acquired skills are the ones most affected." T'Pol commented.

Trip had been listening and nodding his head. "That's pretty consistent with what I've seen in engineering, too, Captain. My most junior crew members, who are just now learning their jobs aren't as badly affected as my senior staff."

"That would explain the armory accident, too." Hoshi added. "As well as why they couldn't qualify with their phasers. The hand phasers are a fairly new design. Malcolm was bragging about them when he made me switch weapons. I don't think the armory crew had used them before they came on board Enterprise. So they've just recently become competent with them."

"That would be consistent with more recently learned skills being the most effected," T'Pol said.

"What about the doctor, then? Why would he be affected?" Cutler asked. "He isn't a new doctor at all."

"However, he is only recently begun learning about humans," T'Pol replied.

"Wait. Is it most recently learned, or most recently used?" Trip asked.

They were all silent, thinking about the question. After a few moments of silence Archer spoke. "I don't know. And at this point, I'm not sure it matters. What we need now is to figure out who is the best person for what job. We're going to have to find people who are relatively competent in an area, and haven't lost their skills in that area. We need to essentially identify people's secondary areas of expertise, and reassign them to those areas."

"Captain," Hoshi broke the silence that greeted the captain's words. "If you don't mind, I'd like to stay at communications. With the universal translator, I think I'm competent, and I think with practice I'll be back to normal soon." She blushed. "You see, with languages, it's not so much a learned skill with me. It's a natural, inherent ability. And I don't think I've lost that. I should be able to pick up new languages as quickly as ever."

"Agreed. Hoshi will stay at communications. And Cutler, you're obviously doing a great job helping the doctor, so you'll stay there. In fact, why don't you go get a few hours rest, and then rejoin him." The captain had noticed the young woman's eyelids were drooping, and she was slumping with exhaustion. Cutler nodded, picked up the padd she had brought with her, and left, not even bothering to wait until dismissed.

Archer smiled grimly. At least they were making some progress. "Trip, I think you'd better take over tactical. Next to Malcolm, you're the most qualified for that job. You need to let me know if you notice any problems in that area. In fact, I want you to switch the crews—take the senior engineering staff to the armory, and vice versa. Leave the junior crew where they are."

Trip nodded.

"T'Pol, you'll need to take responsibility for engineering. Travis will take your station, and will help out as needed. Travis, I want you to spend as much time as possible at the helm, getting as much practice as you can. I'll take over the helm in an emergency. Everybody, redistribute the rest of the crew as you see fit, as their abilities can best be used. "

Archer took a deep breath, and his gaze roamed around his assembled staff. Satisfied, he let them go with a curt, "Dismissed." As the senior officers began to file out of the room, he pulled Hoshi aside.

"And Ensign? Could you find some time to help out in the galley?"


	8. Chapter 8

Happy 4th of July to Americans! Thanks to everyone who has read. Thanks to reviewers! I really appreciate having it pointed out where I've been unclear, or done something that doesn't make sense. It gives me a chance to fix it. Thanks! I believe there will be one more long chapter (or maybe two chapters) in this story.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Malcolm opened his eyes, only to slam them closed again at the brightness of the room. Raising a hand to his face to shield his eyes, he opened them again. Recognizing sickbay he sighed. He tried to remember what had brought him here, but he couldn't seem to follow a line of thought. He was becoming aware that he was thirsty, his throat hurt, and there was a vague ache in his left side, but these were only fleeting concerns. He closed his eyes again.

"Ah, Lieutenant. I see you're waking up. How are you feeling?"

Malcolm considered. "Not too badly," he said, or meant to say, but it came out a whisper. He swallowed, and tried again. This time he was more audible. He followed up with a large yawn, which drew a smile from Phlox.

"Still sleepy from the anaesthesia, hmmm? Well, that will last a little while longer yet. Are you in pain?"

Malcolm shook his head. No, he wasn't really in pain, just that vague ache, and his thirst. But something else was coming back to him. Something had happened to the ship. He should be on the bridge, he was certain. "What happened? Why am I here? What's going on?"

"Now, now, don't get upset. It seems you made the close acquaintance of the torpedo bay loading door. It hit you hard enough to break ribs and rupture your spleen. I removed your spleen. The ribs will heal with time. I've already had my osmotic eel working on the incision site, and it's healing nicely."

At mention of the eel, Malcolm became aware of something cold and slimy pressed against his side, and he tried not to think about the creature that was attached to him. He knew the doctor's methods worked—but sometimes it was better not to examine them too closely. To distract himself he asked, "How long have I been here?"

"Well, you've been recovering from the anaethesia for about six hours. You've been in and out, but you probably don't remember much of that. You were on the ventilator until about two hours ago, so I had to keep you sedated. Before that you had five hours of surgery… so all in all it's been about half a day."

Malcolm nodded. He felt his eyelids began to droop, and knew he would not be able to stay awake much longer, but he wanted to ask one more question. "Enterprise. Is she safe?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. Now go to sleep. When you wake up I'll fill you in. For now, though, you need to rest."

His patient was already asleep.

Archer entered the bridge and glanced quickly around. There was nothing out of the ordinary to grab his attention, so he moved to his seat. He had finally managed a nap, and was feeling much more alert. Rather than sit down though, he took a step forward to where Travis was manning the helm.

"How's it going, Mr. Mayweather?"

Travis shook his head. "Captain, I feel like a student pilot on his first solo. But I think I'm getting a little better."

"Good. I want you to spend as much time at the helm as possible, but if something happens, I want you back at the science station, and I'll take the helm."

"Understood, Captain." Travis went back to staring at the helm. Archer could see that he was playing with the ship, making gentle coarse corrections and reversing them, practicing, trying to get back the feel for steering the big ship.

"Hoshi? Anything new?"

"No, Captain. I've been working with the UT on the Actuarian's language, trying to get a more accurate translation, in case we encounter them again."

"Good idea," Archer told her. He glanced over at tactical, but the station was empty. "Is Commander Tucker in the armory?"

"Yes, Sir," Hoshi told him. "T'Pol was up here for a little while, then she headed down to engineering. She wanted me to tell you that they have been able to correct the ratio mix. Also, Captain, Cutler has reported that since we made the crew reassignments there have been no further accidents. Oh! I sent a message to your quarters but you were already on your way up here—Malcolm woke up, and Phlox says he's doing fine, but that you don't need to go to sick bay because he's asleep again."

Archer nodded, pleased. So far Malcolm was the only one who had been seriously injured. Archer knew that he should be very grateful for that fact; the situation was ideal for mishaps. He decided that since everything was under control on the bridge he would make a tour of the ship. He'd stop at sickbay last—by then Malcolm might be awake again.

Trip stood with his arms folded across his chest, observing the armory crew. Or was it the engineering crew? Whatever the group was called, they were running drills, refreshing their memories on how to load torpedos. Trip had already run them through the firing range, pleased that they had all been able to qualify. It was a source of pride that he kept his engineers Starfleet skills, particularly survival related skills, up to date. He made sure they all fired their weapons routinely, at least once a month. Loading the torpedos and manning the phaser cannons was another matter altogether. Most of the engineers hadn't done that since they were junior crewman. However, their training was coming back, and they appeared confident. Trip knew however that if the ship came under attack, it could be these rusty skills that might be required to save it. So when they finished the drill he simply nodded and said, "Again."

The crew seemed to give one collective groan, and Trip inwardly sympathized, but he only gestured for them to start again, while he reached to start the timer. As the drill began, Trip heard the door to the armory slide open. Without looking away, he called, "Can I help you?"

"No, I just wanted to see how things are going here."

Trip raised a finger without looking at Archer. "Just a moment, Captain." He glanced at the timer as the drill ended. "Better. Much better. Okay, let's take a break. After I talk to the captain, I'm going to give you the locations of your battle stations. Then we're going to review the battle plans. So everyone grab some water and a ration pack."

Archer watched as the former engineering crew moved to the ration packs that were lying on a table, talking quietly. They looked tired, and were moving a little slowly, but their was a growing air of confidence. Archer was pleased. Trip seemed more at ease as well, with non of the hesitancy that had been present in the crew before. This might not be Trip's greatest area of strength, but it was clear he felt competent here in the armory. Archer was relieved.

"Well, it looks like things are going well here. I'm going to stop by engineering, and then sickbay. After that I'll be on the bridge if you need me."

"Okay, Captain. By the way, have you heard anything about Malcolm?"

"Phlox says he's doing fine. He was awake earlier, but went back to sleep."

"That's great. I'll stop by and see him later." Trip turned back to his crew. "Fifteen minutes. Then we're back to work. So eat up."

Archer grinned, and headed out.

In engineering things were running smoothly, just as Archer would have predicted. Any section T'Pol was in charge of was sure to be running efficiently. He stayed in engineering just long enough to ascertain that, as in the armory, the transplanted crew was rapidly becoming comfortable at their new duty stations. Once again he was grateful for Starfleet training, which gave each crewmember basic skills in nearly all areas of Starship operations. Between that training, which was standing the junior members in good stead, and the fact that senior crew had often worked in both tactical and engineering departments, the engineering department was being satisfactorily manned. And, Archer thought, it didn't hurt that his ship had been given Starfleet's top people. Even the most junior members had been at the top of their training classes.

His people were rising to the challenge. Archer knew he had every right to be proud of them. There was no complaining about the long shifts they were pulling. Archer hoped that someday he could find a way to reward them. For now, though, all he could do was offer praise and encouragement. He walked around the section, making time to speak with each crewmember, and then he pulled T'Pol aside.

"I'm setting a course back to Earth," he told her. "We need to get to the bottom of this, medically, so we can make sure it doesn't happen again. For all we know we could have a virus that caused this problem. As well as the crew is doing, we don't know if there might be other effects that haven't shown up yet."

"I think that is a prudent course of action," T'Pol responded, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "To do otherwise is to put the crew in potential danger. Not just from any alien source, but from internal accidents, such as happened to Lieutenant Reed."

"Those seem to have stopped," Archer reminded her. "Once we shifted the crew around, everyone seems to have settled down. I think we'd probably be fine, but I'm just not quite ready to take that chance."

"Whatever the reason for your decision, I think it a prudent one," T'Pol replied, and for just a moment he wondered if he would ever get in the last word with her. He decided it was unlikely, and he should just move on.

"I'm going to stop by sickbay, and then I'll go to the bridge and change our course." Archer replied. "And then I think I need to send a message to Starfleet".

Archer heard the raised voices from outside sickbay's doors. It didn't take much imagination to figure out who was arguing, or what they were fighting about. He stepped through the doors, vowing not to get involved.

"Lieutenant," Phlox was saying, exasperation clear in his voice. "You are not well enough to leave sickbay yet."

"I feel fine, and you said, not more than five minutes ago, how well I was healing." Malcolm was pulling a shirt on over his head as he spoke. He'd already managed to get get his pants on, but he didn't yet have any footwear.

"Yes, and you are. But that didn't mean I thought you were ready to go back to work! My eel has done a nice work on your incision on the outside, but you've got all sorts of healing to do on the inside yet. Not to mention that part of the reason you feel so well is the medicine you've been getting. Wait another few hours. We'll see how you feel then, after we stop the-"

"No." Malcolm was scanning sickbay, obviously intent on finding his boots. "I'm not going to stay here. The captain needs a full crew right now. What would happen if we needed to defend ourselves?" He spotted the boots under a cabinet and began gingerly sliding off the biobed, intent on retrieving them. When neither Archer or Phlox moved to assist him, he began making his wobbly way across the room.

"Malcolm, things are going fine," Archer finally jumped in, doubting anything he could say would help. "We haven't seen anything remotely threatening, and Trip is doing fine running the armory."

At his words, a look of shocked surprise, and a fleeting hurt expression crossed Malcolm's face. It was gone in an instant. "You've replaced me in the armory?"

"No! It's not like that, Malcolm. I've reassigned the crew, to areas where they have some level of training and experience that is not their normal area of expertise. We've figured that those areas don't seem to be affected. Everyone is digging down to find areas they can help out in. We've reassigned people to those areas."

"Where would you like me to go?" Malcolm asked, looking, Archer thought, a little lost.

"Well, I was planning on having you stay in sickbay, until Phlox says you're ready to return to duty," Archer replied dryly. "Then we'll figure out the best place for you."

Malcolm returned the captain's gaze for a moment and then dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry for this business, captain. It was entirely my fault. I should have been supervising my crew more closely, making sure they knew their jobs before I ran a live drill."

"Malcolm, this isn't your fault," Archer sighed. He'd known this was coming—it was exactly what he'd expected from his armory officer.

"Yes, it was," Malcolm quietly insisted. "I was too self-absorbed, worrying about my own loss of abilities. I wasn't focusing on my crew, and their problems. Someone could have been killed by my selfishness!" His voice had risen angrily, and he had straightened on his last words, nearly glaring at Archer, daring him to contradict him.

"Malcolm, it was an accident. They've been happening all over the ship. Blaming yourself doesn't help anybody right now. What you need to do right now is rest and recover, so that when I need you, you'll be available, not still in sickbay because you refused to let follow Phlox directions. If I have to make it an order, I will. I want you to stay here, and do whatever Phlox tells you to do. When, and only when, he releases you, I'll assign you somewhere. Is that perfectly clear."

"Yes," Malcolm mumbled under his breath. Archer was tempted to demand he repeat himself, but realized just in time that he would be taking his own frustration out on the armory officer. So instead he nodded at Malcolm, excused himself to Phlox and exited sickbay to turn his ship back toward Earth.

He had been hoping he could avoid it, hoping their would be some magical cure, and they would all miraculously be returned to normal. It was becoming obvious that wasn't going to happen. This mysterious ailment, that he suspected had been caused by the Actuarians was going to accomplish what the Klingons, Vulcans, Orions, and a myriad of enemies had been unable to do. It was sending Enterprise home.


	9. Chapter 9

Hoshi sat at the communications console, staring glumly at the Universal Translator program she had just updated. She had been pleased with the work, eager to end her shift so she could share it with the other linguists and communication specialists. All the joy in the accomplishment had disappeared fifteen minutes ago when Captain Archer had ordered a new course. He hadn't even had to tell the bridge crew where the new heading would take them; they all knew the coordinates for Earth. Now he stood. "Hoshi, get me Admiral Forrest." Archer threw the order over his shoulder as he stalked towards his ready room.

Although Hoshi had no way of knowing the content of the conversation—although it wasn't hard to guess— part of her job required her to monitor the transmission to make sure there were no technical difficulties. So she knew the conversation had lasted only seven minutes. Seven minutes, she mused. How could the captain possibly explain the situation, in all it's complexity, in just seven minutes? Six really, when you took out time for greetings. It seemed sad to her that the decision had been made so quickly. Six minutes just didn't seem a long enough for their fate to be determined.

Hoshi shook her head. It wasn't true of course. Everything was not decided. There would be numerous discussions and meetings once they returned to Earth, and if they could fix this problem, Enterprise would resume her mission. Or so Hoshi hoped. This would be a perfect opportunity for their detractors to point out that all sorts of untoward things could happen in space. And the Vulcans would probably shake their collective pointy-eared heads and manage to communicate "I told you so" without ever saying the actual words. The thought made Hoshi smile a little. There had been a time when she would have whole heartedly agreed with the detractors. Now, though, it was hard to imagine being Earth-bound.

With the exception of the captain and T'Pol, who seemed unaffected by the epidemic, Hoshi knew she had been the least affected. Ironically, while she could easily become the communications officer of another ship, the rest of the crew would not be so fortunate. There were still multiple languages used on Earth, and despite the ready availability of translating devices that were highly refined for the Earth languages, many people did not like them. People liked to converse in their native tongues. In the worst-case scenario, she could go back into teaching or work on perfecting the UT. There would always be a job for a good linguist. And Hoshi was a very good linguist.

And yet…. while it was reassuring to know that she was eminently employable, it did nothing to lift her mood. She didn't want to return to Earth. She wanted to stay on Enterprise, with her friends. If they were forced back to Earth, what would become of them, her new family? Their skills were badly affected. While they could remain in Starfleet, they couldn't return to their current positions. They would need time to re-master their lost skills. How long would that take? Mayweather had been piloting literally since he was a child. Was all that lost? How long would it take for him to even be good enough to pilot a cargo ship with confidence? And what about Trip? How long before he regained the "art" of engineering? How long before he could stand in an engine room and know by the hum of the engine exactly how the ship was faring. And what about Malcolm? While he was as educated as Trip or Hoshi, his field relied the least on "book knowledge" and depended instead on things like the ability to predict, based on experience, what an opponent was likely to do, what tactics might work best against them, and how to exploit a weakness. It wasn't education that let him hit a target dead center more times than not—it was years of practice. How long would it take him to regain those skills? And what could he do in the meantime? Of all the senior officers, Malcolm's skills were the most affected. What about the doctor? And Cutler? What would Chef do? The fact that her own career was secure did little to comfort Hoshi.

She knew Starfleet would take care of her friends. They would not be thrown out on the streets, unemployable. They would be retrained, or given jobs they could do adequately, if not with the brilliance they had displayed in their areas of expertise. But how happy would they be those jobs, knowing what they had lost? Settling for second best? It was no way to live.

Preoccupied with these thoughts, it took Hoshi an extra second to realize that she was receiving a communication. She quickly realized it was not coming from Starfleet; the frequency was wrong. She made a quick adjustment to clear up the background noise. As the static disappeared, she recognized the language. It was Actuarian. Pleased that she would be able to test the refinements she had made to the UT, she prepared to reply, then belatedly realised that the message was not being directed at Enterprise. She was picking up a stray transmission. Curious, she increased the signal strength, and made sure the message was being recorded. What she heard brought her fully alert. Her morose musings were forgotten as in her haste she fumbled for intercom button to summon the captain to the bridge.

Archer tapped the 'Send' button on his communication console as he finished the communiqué to Admiral Forest, elaborating on what they had discussed in person. The Admiral had needed to attend another meeting, one that couldn't be put off even for a medical emergency on the fleet's flagship, but he had wanted more information to pass to the medical community so they could be as prepared as possible for the arrival of the Enterprise. The Admiral's greatest concern had been the possibility that the ailment was contagious. The fact that neither Archer nor T'Pol seemed affected had not reassured him, since the ailment was somewhat nebulous and they had not conclusively pinpointed a cause. Perhaps Archer and T'Pol were just unaware of areas they were affected in, having not yet been tested, he pointed out. The admiral had even suggested that Archer and T'Pol might have a natural immunity to whatever caused the ailment. The scans Cutler had finally found time to conduct on Archer and T'Pol had none of the abnormalities that appeared on the scans of the rest of the crew. The possibility that the problem was contagious seemed far-fetched to Archer, but he couldn't argue with the admiral's need for caution. Reluctantly, he pulled up the protocols for quarantining a ship. He had just opened the file when the intercom sputtered to life.

"Captain? Could you please come to the bridge? As soon as possible, sir." Hoshi's voice was tight with tension. She had remained calm and professional throughout the last several days, so her taut tone raised a red flag in Archer's mind. Pushing aside the quarantine protocols, he rose.

"I'll be right there."

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"I only caught a few words," Hoshi admitted to the gathered senior officers. Trip and T'Pol had been summoned to the bridge, too. Mayweather was sitting nervously at the helm, wishing Archer would let him go back to the science station, where he couldn't do much damage, and could even be of some help. The captain had promised that he would take over the helm in an emergency, but Mayweather had a deep suspicion that in the heat of the moment, the captain would be too busy being the captain to remember that his helmsman couldn't really handle the big ship. Sure, he'd gotten in some practice, but straight and level flight and gentle turns were a world away from evasive maneuvers. Maybe he could convince the captain to let Trip take the helm, and he could go supervise the armory. The problem with that being he had virtually no experience in that area, and if they got in trouble, it was critical that the armory function at top efficiency—or as close as they could manage in the present circumstances. Unhappily, Mayweather realized he would just have to hope Archer did, in fact, remember to take over the helm. The ensign resolved to remind the captain forcefully, should the need arise. Lacking other alternatives, he turned his attention back to the conversation taking place to his left at the communications station.

"Here is what I've got… the new upgrades to the UT helped… here it is." Hoshi began playing back the recording. They had to strain to hear through the static. After several seconds when nothing intelligible had come over the speaker Archer opened his mouth to ask Hoshi what she thought she had heard, but then he heard a distinct word. And then another. Isolated words, but in combination they were chilling.

"Well, I guess we can rule out having them over for dinner," Trip commented. Archer shot him a look designed to quell him.

"Hoshi, play it one more time," the captain instructed.

Hoshi's fingers danced over the controls and the static began again. Archer again strained to hear, hoping to pick out a few more words, but to no avail. He heard only the few words and phrases they'd detected before: "Enterprise", "effective weapon", "defenseless" and what might have been "tactical strike", but just as easily could have been static.

"Hoshi, can you tell from where it came from?"

Hoshi shook her head. "No, with just us as the receiving station, I can't triangulate. I can give you a basic heading, but I can't tell how far away they are."

Archer nodded, pacing and thinking out loud. "Mr. Mayweather? Have you detected any other ships in the vicinity?"

The helmsman shook his head, confident in his ability to provide this information. "No, sir. We seem to be out here alone. But sir, they could easily be just out of sensor range."

Hoshi was nodding her agreement. "Our communication system has much better range than the sensors, sir, but they have to be somewhere relatively near, or I couldn't have picked them up. My guess would be that they are just outside of our ability to detect them."

"It is likely their sensors are better than our own," T'Pol added, "which would allow them to keep us under surveillance without our being aware of it. If they hadn't been a little careless with their communications, we would never have known they were in the vicinity."

Archer considered all the information they had provided him. "Battle stations," he ordered. Turning to Hoshi he added, "Good job, Ensign."

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"We're at Battle Stations! You have to release me!" Malcolm had been off the biobed and moving toward the door before Phlox had physically blocked the way. Glaring at his patient, he pointed wordlessly back at the bed. Malcolm crossed his arms over his chest and returned the glare, showing no inclination to listen to the doctor's orders. For a moment neither spoke. When they did, it was in near unison.

"Listen to me!" "You need to listen-" Both stopped, and then Phlox continued.

"Lieutenant, you're in no condition to leave sickbay!"

"Not an hour ago you commented on how well I was doing," Malcolm retorted.

"Yes… and I was referring to the fact that you were able to walk to the head by yourself. A journey of, oh, fifteen feet each way. And you needed a nap afterwards to recover."

"I didn't need a nap to recover," Malcolm snapped. "I'm still sleeping off that awful stuff you insist on giving me that makes me so bloody sleepy. I'm not going to take anymore of it, so there won't be any problem. Now, doctor, I am going to my battle station!"

"And where might that be?" Phlox asked, and Malcolm ground his teeth together in frustration.

"I'm sure I—" Malcolm was cut off as the ship suddenly rocked, and sickbay went dark.

On the bridge the emergency lighting flickered, and then became steady, casting the bridge in an eerie glow. Mayweather, who had been at the helm, leapt out of his seat, gesturing for Archer to take his place, and moved swiftly to take his position at the science station. Tucker had moved to the tactical station. T'Pol remained on the bridge, watching over Mayweather's shoulder.

"Report," Archer barked. "Trip?"

"Captain, I don't know what hit us. I'm still not reading any—wait. There's something. Travis, you picking anything up?"

"Yes! There it is. An energy distortion. Right at the edge of our sensors. There it is again!" The words were barely out of Mayweather's mouth when the ship rocked again.

"Trip! What is that doing to us?"

Trip didn't speak for a moment. He was intent on his console. "I've polarized the hull plating, Captain. I don't know if it will help, because I've NO idea what we're being hit with."

"Focused energy waves."

"Sound waves," Hoshi said at nearly the same time.

Archer looked at both of them. "Sound waves?"

"No, Ensign," T'pol spoke. "Not sound waves. Sound waves can't propagate in space. However, conceptually, you can think of them in much the same way. However, this is a generated energy wave that is propagated through subspace. It is a very old technology."

"So," Hoshi mused, "They're 'pinging' us with energy…. sort of like sonar that they used to use on submarines. But it's much more powerful, and focused. I don't know what that could tell them, though."

T'Pol opened her mouth to argue the point, and then reconsidered. "While not scientifically accurate, it is an adequate analogy, for the time being. The purpose and intent of such a technology would be the same as sonar. A means of detecting objects that one can't see, using minimal energy, and giving away little information about them."

Archer shook his head. This was a tactic he'd never heard of before. "Why would they want to hit us with subspace energy waves?" he asked, the question rhetorical. Mayweather answered anyway.

"Well, we used to do it when we couldn't trust our sensors," he said. "If there was a lot of electromagnetic interference, and we were in crowded space, or in an asteroid field. Just to see if there was something there we were missing. Doesn't tell you much, except that you better stop if you detect something that you didn't know was there."

Archer considered this. "Could this be someone's way of confirming our location from a distance? Trying to avoid putting out any electromagnetic radiation that we would detect? Maybe trying to do the equivalent of the old submariner's 'silent running'?

"It they were undertaking such a tactic, it would explain why we can't detect them on our sensors. We would still be able to pick up their communications. It is consistent." T'Pol confirmed.

"The big question is why," Archer mused. "Why is someone stalking us, for lack of a better term?" As he spoke, the main lights abruptly came back on, causing everyone on the bridge to squint for a moment.

"I think it's pretty clear someone is planning some sort of attack, Captain, and the Acturians are the most likely suspects," Trip said. "I guess right now all we can do is be ready, since we can't pinpoint their location, and they clearly know where we are."

"Could we do the same thing? Could we 'ping' them back, and try to locate them that way?"

Trip shook his head. "We don't have the equipment to do that. The fact that they do, despite their otherwise advanced technology means they do something like this regularly. It must be part of their tactics." Trip sighed. He knew that rigging up such a simple device would not be difficult—normally. Now though, while he knew it was theoretically possible, he simply didn't know how to get started. If he had schematics to follow he was confident he would be able to build it. Building such a device from scratch now was out of the question.

"Captain, I think it's clear that an attack is imminent. Given that my current responsibility is engineering, and I have nothing more to add here, I'd like to return to the engine room, and prepare," T'Pol said.

"Me, too, Captain," Trip said. "To the armory, I mean."

"Go. I'll be in contact."

"Aye, sir." Both officers hurried off the bridge, a sense of urgency to their actions. Archer moved to the helm and sat there. He transferred his command functions to the helm console, and began mentally reviewing the evasive patterns he would need. He really hated not having his officers in their accustomed positions, but had to admit they had performed admirably in their current jobs, and considerably better than he would have anticipated. The speed with which the fill-in engineering crew had restored power had been heartening. He hoped the substitute armory crew would perform as well.

They didn't have to wait long. Trip had barely had time to brief his crew about the situation when the captain's voice came over the intercom. "Trip, Travis has detected the Actuarian vessel again, headed toward us. They're close, Trip. They'll intercept us in about five minutes. I'm starting evasive actions, but get ready."

Trip quickly checked the torpedoes and phasers. All appeared to be in order.

"Get out the phase pistols," he instructed his crew. "And the rifles. I want one person to take weapons to engineering first, and then to the other sections. Don't forget sickbay."

"I'm on it, sir," Rostov replied. Within minutes he had loaded a cart with weapons and was leaving the armory. Everyone else was holding either a phase pistol or a phase rifle.

They didn't have long to wait. At the console, Trip monitored the Actuarian ship's progress. It was still a good distance away when he saw them preparing to fire.

"Load torpedoes, and target their weapons," he ordered.

"Sir, they're still out of our range," the crewman at the torpedo control called.

"I know," Trip replied grimly. "Unfortunately, we're not out of theirs. I want you to fire the instant they're in range. We may only get one shot at this." He grabbed his console as the ship was again rocked, and noted with dismay that something near the torpedo launcher was smoking.

"Sir! They're in range!" Crewman Simon, manning the torpedoes, called, while a female crewman, whose name Tucker could not remember in the heat of the moment, used an extinguisher on the smoking console.

"Fire!" Trip called. "And then let's try the phase cannons. Target their weapons and engines first." Trip shook his head. "That first torpedo missed their weapons array, but it looks like it caused some structural damage."

The crewman did not reply, a breech in protocol Trip was perfectly willing to overlook. The young man was focused on his job, and in a few seconds another torpedo was launched. Meanwhile, the female crewman—Melissa Cortez, Trip remembered now—was working frantically to repair the mess of smoking wires and metal that had been the phase cannon console a moment earlier. She looked up at him. "Sir, I'm going to have to bypass this, I think. And until I do, we don't have phase cannons. But I… I'm not sure I know how."

In an instant, Trip was at her side. He wasn't sure he knew what to do about it either. It was not a system he was terribly familiar with; Malcolm and the regular armory crew tended to do most of the engineering type repairs in the armory. Still, normally he would have been able to fix it. Now, though, he wasn't certain.

"Well," he said, "We're going to have to improvise. We've still got our brains, so we're just going to work this out." Trip slid under the console, and began studying the connections.

On the bridge, Archer was putting the ship through all sorts of maneuvers in a vain attempt to shake the Actuarian ship. While he couldn't lose their pursuer, he was pretty certain he had at least avoided a few of the torpedoes that had been sent their way. He was pleased to see a torpedo hit the Actuarian ship, although it didn't seem to do much damage. As he concentrated on his task, he saw yet another torpedo make contact with the bigger ship, and he inwardly cheered. Even as he did so, though, he knew they were losing this battle. The torpedoes were coming at too slow a pace, and for some reason Enterprise was not using her phase cannons.

"Trip? What's going on down there?" he called over the intercom.

"Not a good time to talk, Captain. I'm trying to make repairs…"

"Phase cannons?"

"They're down." He heard the last in stereo as both Trip and Mayweather replied.

"Captain!" Hoshi called a warning. He didn't have time to see what she was trying to alert him to before he felt a terrible pain in his head, and everything went dark.

(TBC)


	10. Chapter 10

AN: This is, at long last, the final chapter. I want to thank everyone who has been reading, and everyone who has taken time to review. I really, really appreciate it. I do want to note that a major scientific error in chapter nine was pointed out to me, and I've fixed it (sort of) and also cleaned it up a little, thanks to help from my beta. Nothing major in terms of the story has changed, so re-reading it isn't necessary, but wanted to point out its been fixed. Again, thanks for reading.

IIIIIIIIIIIIII

Phlox had given up trying to keep Malcolm in sickbay, and instead was helping the lieutenant put on his boots. It had become clear to him that the situation on Enterprise had become dire. The bridge was not responding to calls and he had reluctantly conceded that the health of one armory officer was no longer the top priority. Phlox's attempt to pull the boot over Malcolm's foot was hindered by the fact that the ship was doing a good imitation of a piece of popcorn in a popper. With a final tug, he got the boot on Malcolm's foot.

"Lieutenant, try not to overexert yourself…" Phlox began, and then cut himself off. Instead he simply said, "Good luck".

"Thank you, Doctor. I'll try to send word of what's going on. You should prepare for casualties." Malcolm slid off the biobed and made his way towards the door. He couldn't move very quickly, but at least he was steady. He had quit taking the doctor's drugs, and his head was much clearer. If there was more pain in his side, well, in his opinion it was a fair trade.

Reaching the door he considered which way to head. His first inclination was to go directly to the bridge and recon the situation there. That, he almost immediately realized, would be a mistake. The bridge was not responding, and he had to conclude they were unable to do so. He needed to be prepared for anything, and that meant arming himself. Mentally he cursed at having been stuck in sickbay, unable to monitor the situation. He needed information. Moving as quickly as he could, while avoiding barging around corners for fear of what he might encounter, he made his way to the armory. It only took him ten minutes, but every tension-filled moment felt like an hour. Finally at the armory door he keyed in his personal code and, to his relief, the door slid open.

The armory was full of smoke. He coughed, and then grabbed his side at the resultant pain. He squinted through the haze, and was able to make out Trip lying under a console, apparently trying to fix it. The rest of the crew— and it appeared to be the engineering crew, not his normal armory crew-- were manning the torpedoes and the tactical stations. The weapons locker was open, and empty. Reed was pleased to see that everyone was carrying a weapon.

"Commander? What's going on?" Reed asked.

"Malcolm? What are you doing here? Never mind, I don't care. I'm just glad to see 'ya." Trip had glanced up from his work when Reed spoke, but immediately returned his gaze to the console.

"What's the situation? And what are you doing to my phase cannons?"

This time Trip didn't look up from the console as his hands flew, manipulating wires. The female crewmember working with him—Lewis, it looked like, handed Trip something that Malcolm couldn't make out through the smoke. Trip muttered, "Thanks." After making a few more adjustments, Trip replied.

"The phase cannons aren't working. We got hit with some weird type of energy wave, or something, and it blew out the console. We've been firing torpedoes, and we've done some damage to them, but not enough. We've lost contact with the bridge. Don't know what's going on up there."

"We've done some damage to…?" Reed asked, moving to a tactical station, desperately wishing he wasn't so far behind on current events. He pulled up the schematics, and immediately recognized the Actuarian ship. "They're powering up to fire again, Commander!" Malcolm warned. His side aching from the exertion, Malcolm stumbled over to the torpedo controls and gestured Rostov aside. Targeting the opposing ship, he launched the torpedo.

"Direct hit! You took out their weapons, sir!" Rostov, who had been manning the torpedoes, crowed. "Wow! That was a great shot, Lieutenant!"

Trip slid out from under the console, and stared at Malcolm. "Lieutenant?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Just seemed the thing to do, sir." Moving very carefully, trying to avoid doing anything that would aggravate the pain in his side, Malcolm managed to slide under the console and into the spot Trip had just vacated. Breathing heavily from the exertion, he studied the panel. After a moment he reached up and pulled out two of the wires that Trip had just connected.

"Hey," Trip protested. "I'm trying to fix that!"

"Sir, you're going to cause a short circuit. But this is nearly correct. Just …" Malcolm made an adjustment, and then another. "There. That should work. Are they on-line?"

"I'll be …" Trip put his hands on his hips and stared down at Reed with his jaw hanging open. "I don't know how you did that, Lieutenant. But right now, I don't care. We need to get to the bridge."

"Wait." Malcolm pulled himself up off the floor, gratefully accepting Trip's helping hand. "We don't know what's going on up there. We need a plan. We need weapons, and we need to recon the situation."

"Agreed. You got a plan?" Trip asked.

"As a matter of fact, sir, I do."

"You seem… better." Trip made the comment in a whisper as he and Malcolm paused before a junction in the corridors, waiting for Rostov and Lewis to signal the all clear from their position. They were working as two-person teams, alternating who went first, making sure the corridors were clear. The plan was to get close to the bridge, and then climb into an environmental duct that ran above it. From that position they would recon the bridge. They were hoping that by working as two teams to clear the hallways, should one team run into trouble, there would be warning for the second team. At least one team should be able to make it to the bridge.

"Appearances can be deceiving," Malcolm grimaced.

"No, I don't mean from that," Trip gestured vaguely toward Malcolm's abdomen. "I mean from whatever has us all tied up in knots. You could fix the phase cannons, and you just seem to be thinking like…you."

Malcolm considered this. "I guess you're right. I feel like myself. I just know what to do… I don't have to think about it. Curious."

"Yeah, curious," Trip mimicked. He didn't have time to say more, as Rostov gave a soft whistle.

"Commander, this should be the last leapfrog. Once we get past Rostov and Lewis and take over the lead, this is the last leg. We'll be at the environmental duct hatch. I'll go in first—"

"Negative. Malcolm you are in no condition to be climbing up in that thing and squirming along. You'll rupture something, and then where will be?"

"Sir, you just pointed out that I seem to have regained my tactical skills. I'm the best person for the job."

"Yup. But as limited as they may be, I never lost my tactical skills. And while normally you'd be the best person for the job, today the second best person for the job is going to do it. Besides, depending on what we find on the bridge, we might need you down here more than we need you stuck up in an environmental duct."

Malcolm gave a curt nod. He may have to accede to his superior's wishes, but he didn't have to like it. Trip grinned at him, and then turned and began moving carefully down the hall. They were cautious, but were able to move quickly through the area Rostov and Lewis had checked for any opposition. When they reached the other team they filled them in on the plan.

It was a short distance to the environmental hatch, and it only took them a few minutes to cover it. Trip signaled to Rostov and Lewis to join them, and then pulled the hatch off the duct. Without another word, Trip climbed into the duct.

Malcolm watched with some trepidation, but also a growing sense of excitement. He could feel the familiar surge of adrenalin that accompanied any tactical situation. This was what he lived for. Anything could be waiting on the bridge. It could be as simple as a comm problem, or there could be….

"Sssss—Malcolm!" The hissing whisper came from the duct.

Malcolm poked his head into the hatch so he could hear better. "Commander?" he called softly.

"Malcolm, there are aliens on the bridge. Two of 'em. The captain is unconscious at the helm. Hoshi and T'Pol seem to be okay… Hoshi is at the comm, and T'Pol is about five feet behind her. They're being held at gunpoint. I don't see Travis."

"Where are the gunmen? Do you recognize the weapon type?"

There was a moment of silence and then Trip spoke again. "Okay, one of the gunmen is about five feet away from the helm, facing Hoshi. The other one is at tactical, watching from over there. I'm not sure about the weapons. They look something like phase pistols, but who knows what they are."

Malcolm wanted to make a tart reply about how he might, if he'd been allowed to crawl up the duct, but smart comments wouldn't be helpful at this point. Instead he visualized the geometry of the bridge, and the location of everyone on it, and inwardly cursed. The angles were all wrong. The moment the door to the bridge was opened, assuming it could be, both of the aliens would turn to Malcolm, and it would be all over. Or would it….

"Trip," Malcolm whispered urgently into the duct. "Is there anyway you can communicate with Hoshi or T'Pol without being detected?"

"I don't think so. The guards are too close."

"This is rather odd. We didn't encounter anyone in the corridors, and as near as we can tell, there are no aliens anywhere else on the ship. Why just send two guards over to take over the bridge?"

"I don't know and right now I don't care. We've got to get on that bridge and free the captain, and that's what I'm gonna do!" Trip sounded agitated.

"I agree, Trip. I'm just trying to think of the best way to do that …and I think I might have an idea."

Ten minutes later, Malcolm keyed his communicator. "Are you ready, Commander?"

"As I'll ever be," Trip's attempt at jest fell flat. "Let's go, Lieutenant."

Malcolm walked to the bridge door and keyed in his entry code. To his relief it flashed green. "Now, Commander!" he called into his communicator. The door slid open, and without taking time to think, he aimed at the guard sitting at the tactical station and fired. Simultaneously Trip shouted from the duct. The guard by the helm looked up as Trip tumbled out of the duct. That instant of diversion was all Malcolm needed. He switched targets and fired again. Like his compatriot, the alien tumbled to the ground. Lewis and Rostov followed Malcolm on to the bridge, and moved towards the aliens, weapons pointed. Hoshi was out of her seat, the weapon she had been unable to draw earlier, aimed at the nearest guard. T'Pol had disappeared from Malcolm's view, and he realized Mayweather must be down behind the consoles.

"Let's get these people to sickbay," Trip stood up from his undignified position on the ground and brushed himself off.

"And these visitors to the brig," Malcolm added. "Rostov, call for help from the armory crew… Commander, where is my crew?"

"Engine room."

"Dare I ask why?"

"We switched people up. Seemed to work better that way. Malcolm, really, we'll fill you in on all the details later, okay?"

"Fine, sir. So, Rostov, please ask someone to come help you take these 'gentlemen' down to the brig. Lewis, go get the doctor and Cutler, and stretchers, and some of the people who are currently in the armory, whoever they might be, to be stretcher bearers."

Trip was grinning at Malcolm's exasperation as the crewmen scuttled away, understanding the feeling of having walked in on a movie half way through, and trying desperately to catch up. "

"Lieutenant, you're… better," Hoshi sounded pleased.

"Yes, I seem to be. I don't know how, but I just started knowing what to do, what tactics to use—"

"No, I mean, you're up and walking!"

"Oh. Yes. Well, I'm better in that regard, too. Though it took some doing to convince Phlox—"

"Yes, and I'm still not convinced," the doctor replied as he entered the bridge. "Although right now it seems I have more urgent patients, I would highly recommend you return to sickbay. You're far from fully healed. I believe you have an appointment with my Tectarian Slug."

Malcolm shuddered.

The captain sat up on the biobed, rubbing his head. "Doctor… if there is anything you can do about this pounding…."

"Yes, yes. I know. But I have other patients to attend to." The doctor sounded slightly flustered, as he tried to deal with having three patients in sickbay. Whatever had returned Malcolm to normal clearly had not had any effect on the doctor. Phlox was doing his best, but still seemed as overwhelmed as a new intern, trying to manage the competing medical requirements. Fortunately, neither Archer nor Mayweather was seriously injured. Mayweather had been hit by some sort of energy weapon—Malcolm was itching to get his hands on the captured weapon to study it—and the captain had taken a blow to the head, most likely by the non-lethal end of the same weapon. Once the two men had been taken out, the aliens had intended to hold the women captive. T'Pol had reported that the aliens had seemed to be at a loss when Hoshi and T'pol had calmly refused to be intimidated into releasing the command codes to them.

"Doctor, get this blasted thing off me! It itches. I'm done with this. I don't care what magic it's meant to do. I'd rather heal the old-fashioned way."

Phlox sighed, but acquiesced. Carefully taking the slug off Malcolm, he cooed at it and returned it to its cage. Malcolm sat up and studied the location where the slug had sat. "Bloody nasty thing," he muttered.

"But, Lieutenant, in one hour it's taken at least a full day, probably two, off the healing process!"

Malcolm didn't reply, distracted by Trip, Hoshi and T'Pol entering sickbay. They had been summoned by the captain for an impromptu staff meeting in sickbay.

"Doctor, how are your patients?" T'Pol asked.

"They'll be fine."

"Yes, we'll be fine," Archer sat up. "Sub-Commander, report."

T'Pol moved to the side of the captain's bed, Trip and Hoshi trailing after her. "The Actuarian ship hasn't moved, but appears to be in no condition to fight. That last torpedoe took out their main power supply, as well as a lot of other things, and they can't move. The prisoners have, thus far, refused to say anything."

"Wait until I talk to them," Malcolm muttered blackly. The captain shot him a look.

"Oh, by the way, Malcolm, we tested the armory crew on the range again. A little better, probably from all the practice you made them do, but they're still not back to normal. Neither is anybody else. Hey, Doc, what'd you do to fix him?"

"I didn't do anything to—" Phlox broke off. He stopped moving, and for a moment stared into space. "I wonder…" he began softly, but wasn't able to complete his thought before the intercom sputtered to life.

"This is Rostov. Subcommander T'Pol, you're not going to believe this, but there is another Actuarian ship approaching!"

The captain listened to the message, and then turned to T'Pol. "Think they're legit?"

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Think they're on the up and up? Telling the truth? Playing it straight?"

"They seem to be, and everything they have told us has been perfectly logical. So yes, I do believe they are 'legit'."

"I agree. But I'm not going to let them on the ship. We'll take the prisoners to their ship and drop them off ourselves." Archer stood up. "Malcolm, you want to accompany me?"

Malcolm gave a small, tight smile. "Absolutely, sir. However, I believe we should try talking to the gentlemen in the brig again. Ensign Morris is a very good security officer, but he doesn't have much experience interrogating prisoners."

"I should hope not," Archer mumbled, and then hoped Malcolm hadn't heard him. If he had, Malcolm ignored the comment. "Okay, Lieutenant, go ahead. But I don't want to delay returning them, so you don't have a lot of time."

"Thank you, sir." Malcolm immediately stepped back from his station, and was almost out the door before Archer could add a warning.

"Fifteen minutes, Lieutenant. And Lieutenant? Use a little restraint."

"It should have worked. It always works," the larger of the two aliens, whom Malcolm had mentally nicknamed Curly because of the curly red hair that covered his entire face, not to mention most of the rest of his body, muttered. His partner, who had a straight, grey pelt, and who Malcolm thought of as 'Mo', remained silent. Other than the excess of hair, the two aliens appeared remarkably like humans.

"What always works?" Malcolm demanded. "You're being returned to the authorities from your home world, so you may as well tell the truth. You've been caught."

The grey-haired alien finally spoke. "Don't tell him a thing. You don't know if he's telling you the truth or not. Our ship has not deserted us."

Despite his partner's optimism, Curly appeared to have lost hope, and was eager to talk. "The shock-light. It always works. It makes the ships vulnerable. No one else has resisted us. They usually want our help."

"Want your help? What would they want from you?"

"Help running their ship. Flying it home. Defending it. Everything."

Malcolm was beginning to put the puzzle together. "You use the light against other ships, and then, when they're vulnerable, you attack them?"

"We don't usually have to attack. Don't you see? That's the whole point! They want our help, and they pay for it. But if they don't want our help, then we attack. Everyone surrenders. No one ever fights!"

"How does the light work?"

Curly must have decided he'd said enough, or Mo's glare finally had an impact, because he shook his head, refusing to say more. Malcolm didn't bother to prompt him. He had enough information. He gestured to the nearby crewman to assist him, and together they put restraints on the prisoners in preparation for taking them to the shuttle bay for transport. It was an ingenious weapon, Malcolm mused. It could disable a ship to the point of being non-functional by affecting the crew, without damaging the ship or anything of value inside. It was only in the rare cases where the crew put up a fight that the booty might be damaged. It meant that they could take over other ships with a minimal force and without powerful weapons. It was a low overhead sort of operation that could yield great riches to these 'space pirates'.

The captain of the second Actuarian ship had explained that Behometh's crew were outlaws. The Actuarian government had been hunting them for several months, but the pirates were wary and remained well-hidden. Since there was usually no fighting involved, there was little to track. A full-blown battle would have been easy for the Actuarians to spot. It was Enterprise's resistance that had gotten their attention, and let them finally locate the renegades.

Archer entered the brig, glancing pointedly at his watch.

"We're ready to go, Captain. I don't believe we'll learn anything more from the prisoners, however, we have gained some valuable intelligence." Malcolm explained what he had learned about the pirate's technique.

"That would explain why T'Pol and I weren't affected," Archer mused. "We weren't exposed to the light."

"It also explains why the pirates kept so close to Enterprise. They were waiting for us to ask for their help," Malcolm added. "They only attacked as a last resort."

Archer smiled. "Guess Enterprise was just too tough for them."

Malcolm nodded. "We're too well-rounded. Our second best was good enough, I suppose."

Archer clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. "I think you're right, Malcolm. Let's get these guys back to their authorities, and see if they have any way to reverse what the light did. You know, you're the only one who has recovered, so far."

"Really?" Malcolm was surprised. "What about Hoshi?"

"Hoshi seems to have been able to relearn languages faster than the rest of the crew has been able to regain their skills. Everyone is working hard, but it's slow going. It could be years until their skills are back up to par."

This sobered Malcolm. He had assumed that the effect has simply worn off on him, and that it would do so with the rest of the crew. If that wasn't the case, Enterprise would still have to return to Earth. Malcolm couldn't think of anything to say.

Archer must have known what he was thinking. "Don't give up hope. Maybe the Actuarians can help."

The senior crew was gathered in sickbay, where Phlox had pulled up a display on his monitor. After returning from the Actuarian ship, Archer had called the meeting.

"The Actuarian captain wasn't able to help. The 'shock light', as the pirates call it, was stolen. The pirates don't know how it works, or so they claim, and the Actuarians have never seen it before. They had wondered how the pirates, with a relatively small crew, had managed to be so successful. Now they know. But at least they've put an end to it."

"But we're still affected," Trip said glumly. "Nobody except the captain, T'Pol, Malcolm, and Hoshi can even do their jobs properly. We're still going to have to go back to Earth."

"Perhaps not." Phlox, who had been quiet until this point finally got their attention. "I may have an idea how to reverse it."

The assembled officer's attention was immediately riveted on him.

"Doctor?" Archer queried.

"Well…. Lieutenant Reed has quite obviously recovered. Cutler ran scans to confirm it. He is completely back to normal."

Reed, arms wrapped around his chest, nodded agreement.

"Well, what has Lieutenant Reed been exposed to that none of the rest of the crew has? It isn't anything here in sickbay, because I haven't recovered."

The senior officers nodded their understanding, and Archer made a 'get on with it' gesture with his hands.

"Anesthesia!"

"Huh?" "What?" "Doctor, are you-" The assembled officers all began speaking at once.

Phlox shook his head at them. "Let me explain. The lieutenant underwent surgery, which required a general anesthetic. I'm postulating that the effect somehow 'reset' his brain. It wouldn't be without precedent."

Cutler, who had been included in the meeting jumped in. "Of course. We know that ECT is very effective in 'resetting' the brain in certain mental illnesses. It's a very safe, effective treatment."

"Yes, and their have been anecdotal cases involving anesthesia as well. It's not well-studied, but..." Phlox grinned, "in this case, we have clear evidence of it working for this particular ailment. Exhibit A!" Phlox pointed at Reed.

"While Lieutenant Reed appears to be recovered, how do we know it was the anesthesia that reversed his condition?" T'Pol asked. "Are you certain it was not one of the other medications you administered? Or perhaps the effect of the surgery itself on his body? Surgery would cause the releases of numerous stress hormones, any one of which could be responsible for his recovery."

"That's certainly true," Phlox replied. "However, I believe we should start by testing the effect of anesthesia, for two reasons. One, it is relatively simple to do, and two there is ample precedent. Many of the medications we use induce amnesia in patients, to their benefit. Usually the effect is global, remembering nothing that happened while receiving the medication. The anesthetic I used on Lieutenant Reed works by blocking the GABA receptor…" Phlox trailed off as he realized they were staring at him. He sighed. "It interrupts neuronal transmission. Neurons don't fire, so it sort of slows the brain. I think this gave his brain a chance to reset."

Archer stared at the doctor, his expression indicating he thought the doctor had gone mad. "Are you suggesting we put the entire crew under general anesthesia? Or give all ECT?" he asked.

"Well…" Phlox hedged. "Not general anesthesia, per se. We have other anesthetic gases that have been developed in the last ten years that are very short acting, very safe that work much the same way. Whether or not they'll have the same effect at resetting the crew's brain, I can't say. But I think it's worth a try. I'll go first. We'll use decon. I can have Cutler flood the chamber with the gas. If it works we can have the crew go into decon in small groups. They'd only be affected for a few minutes. Theoretically I could flood the entire ship and do everybody at once, but that would put Enterprise at risk for a short period while everyone was unconscious. I would prefer to do it in small groups where I can monitor each member of the crew carefully."

Archer still looked unconvinced.

"I can't guarantee it will work, Captain," Phlox said quietly. "And it's not without its risks. But I think it's worth a try."

Archer studied Phlox earnest face. "And if it doesn't work?"

"We could always try using the anesthesia I used on Lieutenant Reed, and putting the crew under individually. It would be much more risky, as the older, longer lasting anesthetics carry more risk, but are necessary for the sort of surgery Lieutenant Reed had. I'd rather try this method and see if it works."

Archer made a snap decision. "Permission granted."

It only took a few minutes for Cutler and Phlox to select an appropriate anesthetic gas and to prepare the decon chamber. Looking slightly nervous, Phlox entered the small room. Once the chamber was sealed, Cutler turned a knob to allow the gas to enter. As they watched, Phlox eyes began to droop, and within seconds he was unconscious. The moment his limp body slid to the ground, Cutler reversed the knob, and then quickly turned another, replacing the anesthetic in the chamber with clean air that had a higher concentration of oxygen to aid the Denobulan's recovery. It was less than a minute later when he began to stir, and two minutes later he was fully conscious. Shaking his head as though to remove the cobwebs, he rose and moved to the door. Cutler let him out.

"How do you feel?" Archer asked him.

The doctor took a step forward, stumbled slightly, and then regained his balance. "A little groggy, but that will pass," the doctor responded.

"Did it work?"

Phlox smiled. "I think it be a little while before I know for certain. Lieutenant Reed was unaware that he had been cured for quite some time. It takes testing of ones abilities. Patience, Captain."

"We don't have forever to make a decision," Archer warned. "I'm going to my quarters to send a message to Admiral Forest, updating him. Hopefully, he'll agree to allow us to wait until we know the results of your little experiment." Archer turned to leave but then turned back to the assembled group. "I appreciate your work on this, Doctor. All of you— I'm very proud of the entire crew. I just hope this works."

"Captain!" Cutler's voice came over the intercom, waking Archer. After speaking with Admiral Forest and winning a short reprieve—the Admiral had given them 24 hours to find a cure before they were ordered to resume their return to Earth—Archer had finally fallen victim to his need for sleep. He didn't feel as though he'd slept long, but the chronometer on his desk indicated several hours had passed. He sighed.

"This is the Captain. Go ahead Cutler."

"It worked! We've tested the doctor on the casualty simulator that we use for training, and he passed with flying colors! He was able to do the most advanced scenarios without any difficulty, and he says that it felt like second nature. We'd like to go ahead and set up a schedule to bring the crew down to sickbay. Do we have your permission?"

Archer couldn't help but smile. "Permission granted."

Epilogue.

Archer looked out at the assembled crew from the podium that had been set up in the messhall. He didn't know where the podium had come from, and he decided he didn't like it. He pushed it behind him against the wall, and then looked at his crew again. They were smiling and chatting, the air one of celebration.

"May I have your attention," he began, but Trip jumped up from his seat and gave an order.

"Attention!"

The crew snapped to attention. "As you were," Archer ordered, and the crew relaxed. "I just wanted to take a moment to talk to you, and let you know how proud I am of this entire crew. I think this situation has brought home some important truths to us all. The first of which is, we need to do more cross-training!"

There was a soft titter of amusement from the crowd. "The second is, how very good this crew is. We weren't at our best, but everyone pulled together, and we were able to do what no other crew that has faced the Actuarian pirates has been able to do. We not only resisted them, we defeated them. And we only did that by everyone being willing to do whatever was asked of them— and that wasn't what we were best at. But we did it. And I just wanted to tell you all that that this crew, at it's second best, is second to none."

Applause erupted in the messhall. Archer smiled. "I understand that Chef has made a special treat in celebration. Enjoy it, and then go relieve the skeleton crew that is running the ship, so they can participate in the party."

As he finished speaking, Chef rolled out a trolley loaded with delicacies. No one hesitated to as plates were immediately loaded down with treats. The crowd milled, making conversation, laughing, enjoying themselves. The senior crew slowly congregated to the corner of messhall with their overflowing plates. Archer looked at them, and then at his plate.

"You know, I'm really glad you guys are all back to normal," he said with a smirk. "But most importantly, Chef is back to normal."

The laughter that greeted his comment lingered for a long time.

The End.


End file.
